How I Know You

When the war didn’t end, when
the war didn’t end, when
there was nowhere for the hated
to vent, when the war didn’t end,
instead burrowed inward,
no vents to expel, when the hate
traveled caverns of an oft-bombed
road, where the war didn’t end
and the victims never knew peace
in this war which didn’t end
at the end of a well-bombed road
on which the war didn’t end, just
limped on, a line of mendicants without
peace when the war didn’t end
and the mendicants begged for peace
on an oft-bombed road that ran through
its victims like a leaking welt of welling
sorrow when the war didn’t end
and it was friend against friend, driven
by men who prospered if the war didn’t
end, when friend fought friend on an
oft-bomb road and died, when  pale
mendicants bent, genuflected for
peace, when the war didn’t end
and hate became friend against friend,
with only hatred to rely on.