U. Quill

An old man came, Walking lame, And said he, With a tear in his eye, "Kill me, I now want to die, I now want to lie, For, in this world, I see, So much hate, so much war, I see them kill'd,  By near and by far, Will mankind ever leave its thirst for - For War, For blood? Please kill me, For I do not want to see, My own race kill itself." I was horrify'd, "No", I said, "No can do, Such a man of peace, Kill will who, No can do." And as I said so, There came a man, In white, young and strong, And the old man said, "long - Long time no see, Long time no see, I thought you were no more, I thought you were vanquish'd by War, O, he is such a wahala,  You know not,  O, Personification of Peace, Your appearance gives me ease, Now you will fight War,  And you will kill him, And Peace will reign supreme" The Personification of Peace said, "Well, my friend, As for War, No can kill, For man seems to have embraced him, And until man says to him...

 A cunning traitor threw open the Gate, In march'd legions of the Mongol Race, And a devastatingly bloody fate, The glorious Capital City of Baghdad did face, Scores and scores of innocents were kill'd, As the murderous traitor had will'd, The library, in it books of art and knowing, Was turn'd to nought but dust, All 'cause of a man who betray'd his nation's trust, And the mighty Tigris did flow, Blue from ink and red from blood, Hulagu Khan, his cold command did show, While his army seemed to be a violent flood, And at the end of it all, the Caliph of the Lands, Was trampled by a hundred cavaliers and bought to death, Betray'd by trusted, hands, And the Battle of Baghdad drew to an end, As Hulagu kill'd the traitor, for such men, their ways never mend, Such is the fate of those who betray, Those who envision their nation such a bloody day, True, they've gone astray, having left the right way.

 On Earth, a freer place is not, Than the vast land of thought, For if you do, then you are caught, To jail, haul'd, and bound, And if you speak not and have talk'd, You are mark'd, endlessly stalk'd, You are by all men sought, Follow'd in pursuit hot, Your sayings become a wound, Which does bleed profound, Which for ages doesn't clot, And on the list of the penaliz'd, For you is open'd a cruel slot, So better speak out not; Then remains the realm of thought, Which for now is the freest plot, Though even that is a-become not:   Makin' me ask - will, by us, Ever our freedom be got?