For the unblessed, born and nurtured amongst the broken chariots of a satanic Armageddon.

For a ragged people, torn from broken buildings, their splintered lives picking fibres of hope from the remnants of a lessened humanity.

For the smug-faced angels of death in red leather armchairs who glance dispassionately upon the grieving wives and mothers whose tears and wracking sobs distress the distressed and wash away the crumbling façade of peace and reconciliation.

For the children swept as one into a turmoil not of their making their uncomprehending eyes assaulted by images at odds with their innocence and developing consciousness.

For the nations dealing aid and death in equal measure, killing those who would be killers and offering shelter to mothers, and teddy bears to children.

For the warriors, the tearfully departed, facing the diligent foe across expanses of green and crumpled cities. Blue and yellow flutters still from redoubts and defiant villages.

For the longing in lonely lands for those left behind in quiet desperation with souls bared for the taking by the reaping scythe of  infernal hellions.

For the shallow graves hiding brutalities and abominations where strangers and neighbours become one, united by a shared earth and horrific injustice.

For you and I, as the tendrils of conflict seep into the cracks of our lives, splitting seams and opening hearts, testing firewalls and undermining the ancient fortress of established society.

The trumpet has sounded and now we must act lest our own lives crumble and fade and the unblessed triumph at the end of the days.