I may have posted this before. It is a poem I did a long time ago.

What rain will wash the tears away, under those sinister grey-clouded skies, that the flash of lightning is rending.
When the world is stripped of its living breath and all things find no joy in form or mind.
Can we leave the path of woe, where the child sits crying.
When greed and lust have touched us all with tragic pain and vengence hollow.
When the world for fulfilment yearns and truth and honour lie broken on the alter of ignorance.
With our eyes to see, shall we see the fear of the hind?
With our ears to hear, shall we hear the call of the hawk?
When the frost of hate has settled on our souls and deep there broods.
Who then will comfort the child that lies dying?
When the white days bring silence, so then will all things end.

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Half of a set :halo: