Gathering Fallen Feathers

My positions,
convictions,
are not yours,
Understood.

Then why perpetrate
your convictions upon me?
In other words,
Just lay down and let the war machines
do their job?
And one day
they will beckon at your door,
What then friend,
What then?

Lethargy,
the slippery slope of man
and beast,
brutality,
a reigning feast,
devouring men like you,

Sleeping and wondering
why poets speak of peace.

O, yes its all to old;
People dying, who cares,
Sad at the complacent mindsets…
Words may not matter,
but its the attempt,
to reach out and gather
the fallen feathers of the Dove.

A life not reflected upon
The piper not paid
leaves the ravaged
in uncovered graves…

do you speak for them?
have you ever?
do you care to?
if not, then let those be that do.