The Ink Bleeds

They started with rocks then went to war
Throwing and smashing and killing galore
And when it was over they so did implore
Their ancestors promise to extol those acts of yore
And men of peace marked on walls the final score

Soon they advanced to more lethal things
Like lance and bows, sharpened spears and taut slings
Wars were just dances tribal periodic social flings
And they gathered round campfires and of glories they so sing
And men of peace recorded carnage that was transpiring

Twas’ not very long before the clever human race
Had sharpened the broad sword and learned to swing mace
And before many a battle he would bow and then say grace
Then ride off on his mount to hack off a young man’s face
And men of peace were left to transcribe the mortal waste

Soon these antiquated weapons could not get the job done
So foolish clutching men invented deadly little guns
And they died in heaps and droves beneath moon and under sun
The losers crying, the victors sighing, on this day, “We have so won!”
And men of peace, authored of what, we must abandon

Modern warfare brought the cannon, bomb and plane
Now man did kill, mass bloody spill, until the whole thing seemed insane
He slaughtered on such a scale in many eyes it was profane
Then repeated the whole damn process that which he could not refrain
And men of peace, spoke of war, as mankind’s bane

Around the world, statues stand of men with weapons in their hands
We cluster round them, and revere them, in both small and mighty bands
This phenomena is universal involving every type of man
With all concerned, claiming their God resolutely backs their stand
And men of peace compose their grief in every language, in every land

I am a man of peace and of course we war again
I guess the same could be said for as long, as there’s been men
We praise the dead and deify with our own brand of Amen
Leaving the question written down by so many yet once again
Will we ever, build a statue, honoring, men of peace…Bearers of pen?