“All empty souls tend toward extreme opinions.” W.B. Yeats
“Why should we honour those that die upon the field of battle? A man may show as reckless a courage in entering into the abyss of himself.” W.B. Yeats
Where are the morbid deaths, the spilled blood?
Where are the loud yelling, the anger told?
Where lays the fire upon? Where the pain of innocent souls?
The scars of the rent flesh, the visions of bodies all over the floor…
The silence that hurts and the words that summon steel, burning steel.
Where are the hatred minds when they sit on their desks and play with that; innocent souls.
Where lays the desert of our loves…
We recall it every day!
We feel it every day!
It lives in the very structure of our own selves.
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