When wars are fought, people suffer. But if you think about it, who actually suffers the most? Is it those who fight, truly believing in the righteousness of their actions? Those who die in the belief of defending what is precious to them? No. They hurt, they bleed, they - die... But they consider it an honor, or at least a worthy sacrifice. They might have been secretly hoping it wouldn't be them, but they were willing to fight and knew the risk - or suppressed that knowledge, for all it was worth. Either way, it is not them who suffers the most. Neither is it those who ordered the war. They sit cozily in their stuffed leather chairs
Wake up again
Dragon's fire Heaven's wings We never know what morrow brings Sleep lures you deep into its arm Will hold you dear Will keep you warm Mother's hand And father's voice Morning has come so we rejoice Go now and live another day Enjoy the sun The smell of hay Funny games Grandfather's toy This day is great and full of joy But as sun goes down and stars arise Night turns red It comes demise Singing wings And shining claws Will be all there is and ever was
Reflect on the surface of the water. When all you need is light to awaken, why can’t you accept the morning sun? The words become things you cannot alter, but the breathing gets easier then. Or if the words don’t come, the words don’t come, maybe you can learn to do with less air. Splashing around to prove our youth again, always that much sooner will we succumb to drowning, the heavy fate of all men, and find stillness of years at the bottom. Yet the breakdown only makes you stronger or older, whichever of these comes first. The dead will have to decide which is worse.
Touch of a Touch [7/30]
A touch of a touch - It doesn't mean much To you To you A brush; A touch of a touch A lingering rush Too late To hide My blush.
In the rain-washed blooms of eventide I hear a call I know I am not for this world But heaven's halls And glimpses of this holy realm Shine through decay For all the evil in this world Shall pass away. From the blood-washed cross on Calvary I hear a cry "It is finished" - seismic roar Thunder splits the sky Man of Sorrows, guiltless lamb Murdered for our sin He paid the price unbearable Our errant souls to win. In dew-washed sunrise of the morn I see a tomb An empty place, now washed in grace In sacrifice perfumed For He who raised Himself from death Raises me to life And now He shelters me in love - All righteous in His eyes In lilac scen