Lit by explosion.

Crimes run ramped, life under lease.
How long do I have to live in between,
A life of war and the hope of peace.
No longer hearing the sound of death's scream.

A generation brought up in contempt,
Left alone to survive in the dark.
Not knowing which way is up or what to attempt,
They strive to find themselves and make a mark.

Why did we fail to pass the torch along?
Why did we let it die with our disposition?
Didn't we understand that the damage would prolong?
Now this dark mass is only lit by explosion.

By Aimee R.M. Condon

A Battlefield Alive.

The warriors take their mark,
Arrows pointed high and swords drawn.
They fight for one lowly pawn,
The pawn that beats to supply us life.
Knights take flight against this subtle strife.
Horse's monotonously trot with every beat.
Strides long and free cutting through the falling sleet.
To take the battlefield from the plunging dark

Rhythm strives to help them along,
Pumping vital supplies to the weary soldiers.
Soldiers ride upon the fleshly mountain's protruding boulders,
Through now vicious rivers contiguously running red,
And the fields that once stood still take flight instead.
Flowers once in bloom are trampled under foot.
Life now hides in caves covered with soot,
And the Birds no longer awaken the sun with their song.

Should this remain, all is lost.
Blazing arrows now take to the air with fierce vengeance,
And swords clash almost to mute the screaming silence.
These warriors are valiantly fighting for all that is known,
Past, present, future, the seeds that once were sown
Shall never push their heads through the soil's viscosity,
If the sun does not rise and the water soak the fleshly morality.
It is this battlefield upon which we strive that is secretly at cost.

By Aimee R.M. Condon

What Has It Come To?

Kids with guns, bombs exploding,
The world is hanging on the edge of reason.
Logic and wisdom sitting there molding,
All we know of is war, no peace!
People lying, crying, committing acts of treason.
Will this horrid war ever cease?

How many voices must go unheard,
Before we finally see the blindness of this world.
Faces come mangled, backs all scourged.
Soldiers, our children see every day.
Minds deranged and all wisdom is whirled,
Sins of our fathers and hopes of the future here they lay.

We reach out to grasp a hope slowly fleeting,
A hope that our sons and daughters may see tomorrow.
A hero that would put an end to all this bleeding.
Future so far accumulates in the tyranny of a corrupt generation,
Never to see the sun only to hear the sorrow,
Hope for a hero penetrating the fabric of our consolation

Fireworks, balloons we celebrate our victory,
At the cost of millions of lives serving.
Who will stand on the roofs to tell their story?
Who will see past this eery calm that clouds our minds?
We all see the truth but never try learning,
So instead we escape ourselves with the help of blinds.

There's more then this eery calm,
Jesus come be the center of it all.
Come and hold me in your palm,
Hold my hopes, dreams and aspirations.
Come like You promised when I fall,
Save me now from this desolation.

You are the hero we are all waiting for,
Jesus save us from this vicious blood shed.
From this generation trying to leave us poor.
Jesus come burn a passion beyond this strife,
So that when all is done and said,
You will be in the center of our life.

By Aimee R.M. Condon