By Adeola Ikuomola
The fraternally enforced funerals
Engraved in the heart of the night
Where life is but the light feather
For birds to zoom skyways lightly

Wars are lamentation in progress
Where the deadlier hawks deaths
To uplift the mournful campaigns
Like thunder born by whirlwinds

War is all but raw cowherd drum
Beat slowly and quickly to graves
The potency of word we have lost
To the impotency of ammunitions

Pure fraternity is up in the flames
Like sinful hearts in a furious hell
Man's worth is but a gas chamber
To be dry-cleaned from wet earth
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