They fall, blood flows free
Another, another pure soul is torn
Death comes too fast to the young doves as their white wings are torn
Turned bloody from their kin
Their small feet grow talons
They slash and bleed, never stopping, ever killing
The doves now are no longer pure, they are evil things
Things to be hated, to be loathed
They are things that have seen their bretheren cut down in their prime,
and caused it themselves
Yet we who call these people heroes, do we take ourselves as any higher?
Should we take them onto our shoulders? Shall we honor those who kill?
Those whom kill in the name of justic and rightousness, we honor, for
they have no choices
They are forced to mutate into murderers for their rulers and people
They are forced to take life
And they, in the end, those who do not honor those who gave this great
sacrifice, cannot truly see
See what these young doves have given us
Who changed to hawks and eagles
They have given us not caskets and jars to carry
They have not only given us the liberation from others, they have not
given us only true freedom
They force us to look at us
To see us
Bless them

Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Aeguary, in the year 282 AF.