He who holds the book of panacea
Shan’t dare knock on one’s door.
For those who have the gift to cure
Can endure what life has in store.
But what is life without the war?
He never did knock on our door.
We fought every battle of the war
Without aid from the book of cures.
Instead we had to make it through
The muck-filled trenches down below.
Yet we did not know where to go,
Hand-in-hand, battling the woe.
Our minds and hearts we did forgo.
We took the battle between us two
And our rage grew…
Soon the vicious battle was done
Neither of us seemed to have won.
Our hearts were torn like none
Other—ourselves we had outdone.
Newfound sorrow had finally come.
For the battle was not of odium.
Through our love had it begun.
Yet it set us into prideful delirium,
Which our hearts tried to overcome.
It was not as easy as seemed to some.
Though battle took the years gone,
I do know the war is finally done.
There was nothing else for us to do
But fight the battle and take our dues.
Yet I have forgiven you for the wounds.
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