The Flies

The many emotions of earth
So clear yet so confusing
The hate for man
And the segregation of religion and color
Blends evenly the wars within ourselves
The past is not the only enemy
The blood, tears and sweat of millions
Have no defense
The ignorance it represents
And the sharp tone of the trumpet
Lead people to believe
The constant pressure for honor and glory
Death is no honor
And dealing death is no glory
The letter home to your loved ones
Brings only hate,
The sour stench of death,
And the flies that feast on it