To Know

We know disaster in this deadening place
Things forgotten or skipped in our haste

Twas the night before Christmas
this winter's eve
More violence and death
than the mind should conceive

War is a gruesome
thing indeed
Fighting over anger, jealousy
or mostly greed
Only funerals and pyres applaud
those who grieve

A hailstorm of bullets strikes
at the crack of dawn
My name, call me Thomas, in this
Village was I born
I know each leaf and stone
and every lifeless thing
I know so many for
whom the death bell will ring
And this my village
my self is torn

They came in their tanks
their cars, their van
We did the only thing we could
we ran
They filled the air with laughter and jeers
we, in contrast,
with cries and tears

We have little and can do less
but we do the best we can

Lest all we know
go up in flame
And this village disappear
in all but name
So that those children will
not weep
For their parents who
forever sleep
This violence of war
must we tame

This village is quiet
as silent as the dead
A graveyard truly
when all's done and said