War forgets

That men have mothers

Keeping faces

Without names.

To kill with calm

We must remain

Distant

Being brothers.

Numbers may be bombed at will,

Erased from charts

And left in tombs.

But sons are made of sacred love

Conceived in silence

Formed in wombs.

Leave your weapons,

Drop your hatred,

Make your enemy your friend.

Then at last,

Christ’s love will triumph,

And all war will have an end.