Hear now, O man, who lifts the sword with pride, And cloaks thy will in banners, laws, and cries— Think’st thou the heavens slumber at thy hand, Or that the Lord is blind to mortal lies? Hear the wind that passes o’er thy fields, whispering through broken grain, Carrying the faint iron-scent of blood long dried yet never gone; Feel the trembling in the earth beneath thy feet, As though the ground itself remembers what thou wouldst forget.
And it came to pass, in the stillness between night and dawn, When the air hung cold and heavy, and no bird dared to sing, That mine eyes were opened, and a vision took hold of me. The world grew dim, yet sharper still in form and sound, As though a veil were torn, and truth stepped forth unveiled.
For it is writ, and standeth ever fast: “Thou shalt not murder,”—thus the command was cast. No ink of kings, nor councils forged in gold, Can blot the word eternal from the past. No parchment sealed with wax, no trumpet’s blast, No roaring crowd with lifted voice and hand, Can dull the echo of that holy word That rings like iron striking through the land.
And I beheld a plain vast and without horizon, Where banners of many nations waved in a wind that smelled of smoke and salt and sorrow. The ground beneath was darkened, not by shadow alone, But by the deep soaking of blood long spilled and never answered. The air was thick— With the sting of ash upon the eyes, With the taste of dust upon the tongue, With the low, unceasing murmur of voices beneath the soil.
Say not, “’Tis war,” to cleanse thy crimson deed, Nor dress thy hunger up as noble cause; For God discerneth marrow from the bone, And weighs the heart far deeper than thy laws. He tasteth the bitterness upon thy tongue when falsehood is proclaimed as right, He heareth the crack of fire, the thunder of hooves, the weeping in the night, He seeth the smoke that stings the eyes of children, And the ash that settles soft as snow upon the slain.
Then the vision deepened, and I heard the drums— Not as men hear them in triumph, But as a hollow pounding, like the beating of a wounded heart. Armies moved like shadows across the land, Their armor gleaming, yet stained beneath with things unseen. Their mouths spoke of honor, of safety, of righteous cause— Yet their breath carried the scent of hidden bargains, And their hands trembled with desires unspoken.
When greed for oil, or thirst for power’s throne, Doth stir the drums and send forth sons to die, Call it not justice in the courts of men— The Judge of all shall hear the blood’s own cry. Hear it rise—not faint, but swelling, A chorus beneath the soil, beneath the stone, beneath the cities’ gleaming towers; Smell it—the sharp and bitter reek of burning fields, Of flesh and metal mingled in the heat of wrath; Taste it—the dust that fills the mouth of nations, Dry and choking with the cost of hidden motives.
And suddenly the ground beneath the armies split asunder, Not with fire alone, but with sound— A great and terrible sound, like a thousand voices crying at once. From the depths there rose a mist, pale and heavy, And within it shapes began to form.
For Abel’s voice yet lingers in the earth, And souls beneath the altar lift their plea: “How long, O Lord, till righteousness awake, And truth unseal what all the slain do see?” Their voices tremble through the unseen veil, Like distant thunder rolling through the bones of time; Their cries press heavy on the air, thick as storm, Until even silence groans beneath their weight.
And I saw them— Not as shadows without form, But as presences filled with memory and witness. Their eyes burned with truth, Their wounds spoke without tongues, And their nearness made the air grow cold and heavy upon the skin.
Think not thy cause escapes the piercing eye, Nor that thy flag makes violence made pure; The Lord requireth truth in inward parts, And false pretence no judgment shall endure. Though garments shine and speeches stir the crowd, Though banners wave and anthems swell with might, He seeth the hidden bargain in the dark, The quiet hand that trades in blood for gain.
Then the sky itself began to change. The light withdrew, not in haste, but in solemn retreat, And a weight descended that pressed upon the chest like unseen stone. The taste of the air grew sharp, like metal and storm, And all sound seemed to bow beneath a greater silence.
Though war be writ in ancient, solemn page, And swords were drawn at God’s own high command, Yet never once was wickedness excused, Nor cruel hearts made clean by His own hand. For even then the ground drank deeply in, And groaned beneath the weight of every fall; And even then the cost was marked in heaven, And not one drop was lost beyond recall.
Then I beheld a throne—not formed of gold nor stone, But of light that burned without flame. And before it stood the rulers of the earth, Their crowns dimmed, their voices stilled, Their justifications falling from them like dust.
For blood is weight, and staineth still the soul, Though men applaud and chronicles proclaim; And every drop unjustly drawn in strife Shall rise again and testify thy name. It clings like heat upon the skin, unseen yet burning, It lingers in the breath, metallic, sharp, unyielding; It seeps into the marrow of remembrance, Where neither time nor silence can erase.
O tremble then, ye rulers of the earth— Ye architects of conflict crowned with might; For God is not as man, to be deceived, Nor calls the darkness by the title light. The heavens darken not from lack of sight, but from the gathering of witness; The air grows heavy, thick with coming reckoning, And even the stars seem to watch in stillness.
He seeth cause, and motive, thought, and breath; He knoweth when the sword is drawn in truth; And when it springs from covetous desire, Masked in the garments of a nation’s youth. He feels the tremor in the hand before it strikes, He hears the whisper spoken just before the lie, He knows the hunger buried deep within the heart That no decree nor anthem can deny.
There is no cloak to hide before His throne, No righteous name to sanctify a lie; For wars begun in falsehood, pride, or gain Are weighed as blood, and none shall pass Him by. The scales are set, unmoving, just and sure; Each drop is counted, each intent laid bare; And what was hidden in the councils of the night Shall stand revealed within the open air.
So lay it plain, and let no tongue deceive: Not every war is just before His face; And they who forge them for their selfish ends Shall find no mercy standing in that place. Their words shall fall like ash upon their lips, Their strength shall fade as shadows at the dawn, And all they built upon the bones of others Shall crumble when His judgment presses on.
And the voices rose once more—louder now, Not pleading only, but proclaiming: That every hidden thing is known, That every life is counted, That every drop shall answer.
For God hath said, and He shall not repent: The blood cries out. The heavens keep the score. And every deed, though crowned in earthly praise, Shall stand revealed forevermore. The sound shall rise—the cry, the roar, the reckoning— Filling the senses, shaking sea and shore; Until all flesh shall know what heaven has spoken: That blood unjustly shed is silent nevermore.
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 