Normal, nonwarring

A state so profound

The nations

The creations

They utter not a sound.

Abstain and remain

The cease fire called

The antagonist

The protagonist

Cease their rounds.

Mutual harmony

Unaltered melody

The relations

The nations

They’ve all come ’round.

Freed freedom

Violated violence

Communities quaver

Public order wavers

It all falls to the ground.

And we whisper

Our hands held tight

We whimper

Asking the moon’s light

Bless us with not another round.

Peace passes

We try to catch it

It’s serenity’s sound

Stillness glistens

But it won’t stay around.


Superstition is a baffling rhyme

Twisting the moon in it’s own time

Sheltering ignorance while wising a few

Superstition certainly has it’s own tune.

Tongues wag as times progress

Maybe they’ll all have a regress

When the night begins to howl

And their children begin to prowl.

Wolfish ears and wild desires

Superstition watches from it’s tower

As chaos descends to devour

Young and old at midnight’s hour.

Its tune is yet incomplete

Some still have it to reap.

Shake your head at this warning

Superstition is watching this morning

Waiting until the full moon

Then she’ll come for you.