The Death of Pacifism
Here we grew
Orphaned out of love
Inebriated by history
Gloating about our potential
This youth of arrow and sword
This strength that will wane
This beauty that will cusp
From mother married to grief
And father sworn to selfishness
Here we dreamed of fathers
And wished for harbour-mates
With a body of writing like a balm
An outflung prayer to stars
The temptation to never write again
And cowards to barely truly live
That was our moment
An underground rebellion of one
An innocence endured like purity
A poverty knelt in the spirituality
Of simplicity, did we grow foolish
Or were we simply ignorant, uneducated
Too trusting of a wicked world?
Wuji Seshat 