The glory of war, is such a thing, patriotic forever, rushing fast and into battle, swords swing and armor shatters, bugles blow and hounds bite the enemy, blood is running, the stairs are covered and dripping, the shouts of anger swirls about, chanting for heads to fall off.

A non person isn't fighting.

The true mirth, is greater than fake laughter.

This is not a drill.

The warmth after the storm has passed, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, turns around to face the sun, the fire burns the village down.

Working torwards being a family of nations and communities makes sense, should eventually bring it all together, mostly.

The lost on the other side, in the wrong, with the sin, and fire alarms, go off and sirens scream, is this love?

It is a passion for one's nation that prefers, the winner to see again freedom, eons of living and dying and change.