He sat in a chair,
unable to move
a prisoner without name
in the jail of despair
that rose high on the hill
of world circumstance,
surrounded by shouts
of the armies of night,
preparing for war
on the refuge of peace,
and as they prepared
the hot seas rose high,
the skies flashed with flame,
and even stars wept,
for the millions to die,
for those already slain,
while assassins and tyrants
claimed, with righteous disdain,
that it was all for our good,
that all would be fine,
and silenced the few
who dared still to protest.