In the midst of war, the defenseless
Dreams of pastures green and paradise
On earth.

Peace only comes when warriors are
Sated and the stench of death and
Destruction is complete.

Then the mighty talks of peace
(On certain terms of course) and gladly
Narrate a poem about peace and love.

Poets are happy to be quoted and write
Lyrical odes to unworthy presidents,
Generals and kings.

Lauded they are, the poets, oblivious
Of being used. These naive siblings of
Peace go on writing about pastures green.