“Empathy and understanding, don’t go hand in hand.
Lives do not matter, when it’s a matter of the mind.”

Truth, spilt from pursed lips,
Once stitched together, from the fear of thrips,
They that emerge, from the pious vulgarity–
Of the closed mind’s seemingly foreign inequity.

The death of ours, you care not to see,
Thus we must stand tall and pray to face thee.

Tell me then, O’ General of Fortune’s conquests; what must be done to warrant thy pardon?
What must be done to make your heart harden?
– To us, your people, who have served you well.

Should children be summoned,
To jump into the Fire?
Or Nymphs brought forth to offer their lea?
Should the old be be forced into your pyre?
Or should I severe and lay, my head before thee?

Must lives be shattered, or blood be shed;
To quench your thirst for carnage?
Should your lies spread deeper, and further still;
For the people to pay you their homage?