The Dread Named “Strife”

     
               The Dread Named “Strife”

     Many thousands to fight  came,
          and One thousand Home went.
     In Far-away lands
          Their Life's blood was spent

          Across that far place
               a foul Horseman rode
          Death was his Treasure,
               and War his Abode.

   Misery he Brought
     as he Rode o'er lands
          be it fertile river valley
               or dusty, dry sands.

     He poisoned his lair with Dark Hatreds rife,
               and many do serve his Dread'd name “Strife”.

                    For unnumbered years
                         Strife nurtured his plan,
                    sowing Anger... Discontent
                         in the hearts of lost Men.

          Strife lifts not his touch from warrior or child
               for in his Domain are all equal, to be Reviled!

     Friend fights his neighbor,
                    O' Brother kill Brother,
     Strife savors the madness
                         of Men turned 'gainst each other.

               
               And in those lost Men
                    did take Strife's seed
               and furthered his case
                    with harsh word and dark deed.

                    They cried out for more,
               For vengeance they Scream,
                    “You're foul, so wrong,
               You're no part of Our dream.”

     So the thousands were shipped
                    to that land in the Sun.
          Their mission so simple,
                         to put Strife on the run.

          Many reasons did give
               the men who did sign
          the Orders that put
               Valiant men on the line.

               Long years before,
                    men went to fight Strife,
               but too much Leaders meddled
                    Too, too many Valiants lost life.
                         
                         Leaders swore to the men
                    Their lessons they'd learned,
                              But the words of their Generals
                         Those leaders soon spurned.

                    And far back at  Home
               Debates hotly raged.
                    
               
                    
                    In words and clenched fists,
               or large-written on page.

          “The fight is Right,
               our Cause oh so just”
                                   “No, No,” more cried,
                              “For more Power you Lust.”

     
               And what of the lost Thousand?
          Will that be the end?
               “No!” loudly cries Strife.
          “I've much more to spend.”

                    For the coin of Dread Strife
                          is not made of Gold.
                    It's the blood of the Innocent
                         the Scared and the Bold.

     So Some shiver with Fright
          and Some have Courage in hand,
     but all struggle and fight
               to chase Strife from that Land.

               And Some take sore-wounds,
                     and Others do die,
                         and too Many are left
                    to ponder.. question.. Why?

                         We'll mourn for the dead,
                    that Family's have lost,
                         and add on the Wounded
                    as just part of the cost.

          
          
          And what of the Wounded, in body or mind?
               How do we rebuild bodies, or sharp-shattered Pride?

          We'll build fine Memorials
               for the Ones who have died,
          but Nothing For the scarred Ones
               Who bear Strife's injuries somewhere inside.

                         Too many will suffer,
                              but Who'll his scars bear?
                         When his seeds have been sown
                                   and bear fruit everywhere?

          Those Leaders say
               He's safe over there,
                    but Strife Here too strides
                         through Our Home so Fair.

     Maybe we'll too, if our hearts we don't hide,
          See Strife's Unhealing Scars carved deep... Deep Inside!

          Christopher Scott

     copyright 2004