The Winning Side

I dreamed I came upon a rubbled place
Beneath a sick sky poisoned by dead cloud;
And that the ruin spat a blackened hand.
It dragged a blackened arm, a blackened face,
Which bled through crazy teeth and cried aloud.
The eyes went skidding over the burnt land,
Slid on to mine, and suddenly were stilled.
"They did it, then," he said. "My house was killed."

I condoled, shiftily; but still he stared.
"Weren't you among that lot who talked of peace,
And said that if sufficient numbers cared
We'd save the world; that one day wars would cease?
Well, you were wrong!" he spat out bloody foam,
And killed me with a fragment of his home.

Golpoid Hussop