They Draw Their Swords
They draw their swords,
they know not why,
will they give life,
or deem them die?
Words as swords,
swung to and fro,
they cease to know,
from death that's given with each blow.
Intentions of a wicked kind,
no thought of good will you find.
Repentance lost to selfishness,
can't we put an end to this?
Let encouragement be shown,
sincerity in these words known.
Life not death given here,
a better way in this is clear.
May we no longer continue this,
encouragement we surely miss.
May we no longer wound and maim,
and change the rules of the game.
Let hope be offered here instead,
and resurrect good once dead.
Sheathing swords once meant to kill,
offering up our good will.
In this way will we live once more,
and look forward to what's in store,
living free as meant to be,
benefits known to us plainly.