I
You destroyed my place of worship
I destroyed yours.
You killed and conquered mine
I killed and conquered yours.
Where we fought stands
a shiny shrine – its foundation
soaked red – its walls just dust.
The killer is enshrined in the hearts of haters.
They read his reasons for murder as sound.
They sharpen their swords and words daily
to use on people still carrying traces of ‘that man.’
Peace can only be got through bloodshed – it’s
sad but true, they say, carefully cultivating
more rage, more vengeance
firmly steering clear of healing.
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