Gazing out o'er azure blazing blush,

where sun's honey kisses morning's dew,

a cool still befalls the calming hush,

as a fresh day begins cold, anew.

Too much suffering, pain and sorrow,

– it's all there beyond yon milky haze.

I pray to God that on the morrow –

so many see much happier days.

War, famine and fear, grief~stricken pain,

you don't have to look hard to find it.

Light extinguished by violent reign,

yet, so few of us seem to mind it.

Frost's filigree fingers touch my pane,

adorning lacy etchings on glass,

I lift up my eyes skyward yet again,

pray these melancholy musings pass.

 

White billowing plumes beyond the wire,

acrid stench of a vaporous death–

Torrid hate feeds the funeral pyre,

beloved pray with sweet final breath.

Need anyone suffer such sadness,

lulled deaf with compassion, I rejoice.

I yearn to croon away the madness,

but found I've lost my sweet singing voice.