not widsom and lore

Don't think words

Fall ´to a void.

They are heard,

First by one,

Then a second,

Then a third.

Paper and pen

Have struck down

The worst of men.

Not scoundrels mere,

But men of war,
Agents of death,

Merchants of fear.

Men who take
The good of tomorrow,

For whom  
Truths are lies,
Pain a prize,

And all history past,

A game of sorrow.

When we have

Great honor again,

In action,

Not wisdom and lore, 

Then only, such men

Will be no more.