Ceasefire

Before me lies a gory sight
Slain bodies littered without hope
The slayers' hands sweep with might
With a furbished sword that never says "nope"

With hopes and expectations unfulfilled
Struggling lions are now trapped
And by a lone gash of your blade
Their roars are heard no more

Return the sword to its scabbard
Oh angels of death
The ruin, the ruin, we plead
Is more. . . more than we can bear!

Lawrence Okorafor