War Is A Fevered God

I Knew The Poor, I Knew The Hideous Death They Die, When Famine Lays Its Bleak Hand On The Door; I Knew The Rich, Sated With Merriment, Who Yet Are Sad.

Sing And Your Hell Is Heaven, Your Heaven Less Hell.

I Testify To Rainbow Feathers, To The Span Of Heaven And Walls Of Colour, The Colonnades Of Jasper.

The Stallion And His Mare, Unbridled, With Arrow-pattern, Are Worked On. The Blue Cloth Before The Door Of Religion And Inspiration.

When You Would Think, "what Was The Use Of It," You'll Remember Something You Can't Grasp And You'll Wonder What It Was.