When kingdoms stir and iron banners rise, And thunder rolls where once the lambs did sleep, Then must the hearts of men give solemn thought What cause doth call the dreadful drum of war. For war, though sometimes clothed in righteous cloak, May yet conceal the serpent’s cruel fang.
The ancients named it jus ad bellum fair— The right that bids a nation take the field; Yet with it walks stern jus in bello’s law, Which binds the hand that bears the sharpened blade. For justice lost amidst the clash of arms Turns noble cause to tyrant’s bloody feast.
From sacred writ there sounds a gentle voice: “Bless’d are the peacemakers,” the scripture saith— “They shall be called the children born of God.” Thus speaks the Gospel of Matthew across the years.
Another charge through ancient prophets rings: “What doth the Lord require of thee but this— Do justice, love mercy, walk humbly still.” So sings the Book of Micah unto kings and dust alike.
And older still the law of peace was writ. Within the ancient Torah a charge resounds: “Justice, justice shalt thou yet pursue,” That life and land in righteousness may stand.
From wisdom’s page another counsel breathes. The Book of Proverbs softly warns: “The proud in heart shall surely not go free,” And gentle speech turns wrath away from men.
Yet time itself bears witness unto war. The Ecclesiastes declares: “To every thing there is a season still— A time for peace, and also time for war.” Yet wisdom asks what fruit such seasons bear, And whether men have learned from former grief.
From prophets’ lips a vision yet appears. The Book of Isaiah lifts a brighter hope: That swords one day be beaten into ploughs, And spears made tools to till the quiet field; That nations learn the dreadful art no more.
From eastern fields another vision speaks. Within the Bhagavad Gita the warrior Arjuna stands, His spirit torn between the bow and grief. And Krishna bids him see with clearer sight: That duty must be yoked with righteous heart, And action bound to wisdom’s steady hand.
And from the desert’s wind a solemn verse resounds: Who slays one soul unjustly slays the world. Thus speaks the Qur’an unto the tribes of earth.
From quiet groves where monks in silence walk A teaching rises gentle as the dawn. The Dhammapada speaks in tranquil verse: “Hatred is never ended yet by hate; By love alone the ancient wound is healed.”
And from the path where sages walked in stillness The ancient Tao Te Ching softly speaks: That he who conquers others may be strong, But he who conquers self is stronger still. And weapons, though they serve a fearful need, Remain ill-omened tools of sorrowed lands.
Thus mercy stands beside the gates of war And asks each king, each council, and each throne: What profit lies in victory o’er the grave?
Consider well the souls who walked in light. Good Abraham Lincoln spoke amid a fractured land: “With malice none, with charity for all.”
So too brave Nelson Mandela, long enchained, Did rise from shadow not with thirst for wrath, But hope that men might learn to love again.
And Martin Luther King Jr. whose dream rang through a troubled age Proclaim’d that darkness cannot banish night— Only the lamp of love dispels the gloom.
Such voices, like bright stars o’er stormy seas, Guide wandering nations through the dark of time.
Yet mark as well the ruin wrought by pride. For when the heart grows deaf to mercy’s plea, The tyrant’s tongue grows bold with dreadful boasts.
Adolf Hitler proclaim’d that strength resides in war, And millions perish’d in that fatal creed Within the shadow of the Holocaust.
And Joseph Stalin with chilling arithmetic Did weigh the dead with cold and bitter tongue: “One death a grief; a million but a sum.”
Thus history writes with ink of blood and tears The cost when conscience bows before the crown.
Yet still the prophets, sages, seers proclaim— From Torah’s law to Buddha’s quiet path, From desert winds to mountains robed in cloud— That justice, mercy, wisdom must prevail.
Three simple charges, weightier than swords, More mighty than the cannons kings command.
Therefore when war’s grim herald shakes the earth, Let wisdom sit beside the throne of power. For though a cause be just that calls to arms, The soul of man must guard its gentler flame.
The truest strength a nation e’er may claim Is not the foes it fells upon the field— But hearts it saves when hatred tempts the blade.
As a passionate and versatile writer, I craft works across all genres, fueled by a special love for poetry and short stories that inspires me to create. Writing since childhood, I've nurtured my talent, winning poetry contests in school and continuing to weave words into vibrant literary works of emotion and intrigue that uplift and motivate. Holding a Regents Bachelor of Arts Degree, I bring depth and artistry to my storytelling, embodying a spirit reminiscent of Mata Hari, mysterious, bold, and a fervent sleuthe. I infuse every piece with an enduring allure that resonates long after the final line.
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verse, possies, sonnets, and short stories 