Twilight casts her shadows o'er war-torn land,
trying to soothe with her pale, gentle fingers
the wounds, ripped, remorselessly by human being.

She sobs, unleashing her sorrow, as drops of rain,
each imbued with years of pain as she watches on,
helpless, as we crush and destroy in our unrelent.

Her screams, whistle about dead, blackened trees,
an eerie whisper to man, riding upon Nights wings,
unceasing, chilling the skin of man, with her hate.

Her anger, a crimson blood-red, tinges the sunset,
as loud and vivid as the barren land she mourns,
yet as unfaltering as the hand that caused it.

Twilight laments for her child, raped and maimed,
destroyed by Man's wars, a victim of selfish hate,
She watches on, pitying us. When will we learn?