Listen now, youngest of us.
On the edge of ruin, I am wiser
And perhaps, you shall be as well.
A crimson silk carpet runs beneath
The house, unmoving and unwavering.
And now my children lie motionless.
Staring into that vermilion void
Full of hope, hate, and horror,
Much is lost in the confusion.
I look to my neighbor's house
And I see a reflection of mine,
Walking to my neigbhor's door.
I knock, and when he answers,
I offer my hand in comfort
And yet, he pushes it away.
"Your brood makes the world bleed."
I am struck by this and so moved,
We call our brothers to the fore.
A battle plagues the town square
Drowning our brethren in themselves,
Burying our sanity and our bodies.
My blade is a hair from his heart,
The carmine sun shines on my sword.
I cannot forget such beauty in it.
I see my face and my neighbor's face.
I have seen but two faces of love,
For children, for home, for people.
Love has no limits to abide by
No borders to contain itself.
No face that defines it.
Love has but one, solemn reason
To cherish, to touch, to move, and
To empower, and that is humanity.
But now, behold and weep, for
That common sense of humanity
Dies away in the damask abyss
The square is drowned in scarlet murk,
No longer is it home, but a casket.
The blazing silk carpet is the shroud.
Our youngest, we beseech you:
Be rid of that sanguine visage
Because we cannot forget it.
Remake the land in white and gold
To save those who come after us
And to never learn love as we have.