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A Tale of Two Cities
John Peter
In the storms
of the shrills
Of arms, smoke
and the drills
All were
scarred, burnt and afraid
Powerless and
helpless were they made.
Woeful were all
the hills
Wasteful were
all the grills
None to share
their moans
None to lessen
their groans.
The flowers,
flavours all smashed
Burnt, crushed
and all dashed
And all passed
through the grind
Leaving there
nothing behind.
No eye could
look
The explosion
that took
The lives of
two glories
In the moments of
furies
All was done by
a nation
Who in her wild
passion
Cared not for
the human rights
Nor saved them
from deadly fights.
But how much
great were they
Who bore the
pains of black day:
“Ashes are not
merely the waste
They can really
create the great.”
.....End.....