"The Spirit of Rebirth" by Bobby Torpey

The well is dry temporarily.
The plain is barren, briefly.
Just as the momentary drought
Of imaginative faculty
Has rendered my mind
A desert of ideas.

The blood is spilled, wastefully.
The bodies are strewn, eternally.
For youth is wealth, and wealth is finite.
And vanity remains a brainless creature.

It learns not.
It is spent;
It is here.

Some of tehem bleed more than others,
And the well is not bottomless.
But for the will of Man,
And the spirit of rebirth.