poem: i hope to hell i'm wrong

A sober poem for a Sunday afternoon.

i hope to hell i'm wrong
by hradzka

The oldest and the harshest truths
are those we cast aside.
Too hurtful to the dreams of youth,
of peace obtained with pride:
But it's written out in martyrs' blood,
erased, and writ again:
when men with guns fight those without,
the men with guns will win.

(continue reading here)