Past burning gates of strife,

Striking forth in silent foray,

which give unto the spilling forth

of more innocent blood today.

For gaping are the holes

In hearts of beleaguered souls

Bereft now of humanity,

with poison tears of insanity.

Yet our lessons are never learned,

With holy pilgrims left spurned,

while the children weep from their crystalline eyes.

The face of man surrenders and dies.

J. Allen Wilson © 2004