Sestina Day 52: Seriously.

It can’t make it better.
It won’t bring them back.
The dead are still dead.
And the towers still fallen.
Why, then, do you sing?
Why rejoice at his killing?

I fear that the killing’s
Not over. It’s better
Perhaps, not to sing,
Lest his voice is called back.
For although he has fallen
His words are not dead.

I believe that he’s dead
But it won’t stop the killing,
Or raise up the fallen,
Or make the world better,
To pat our own backs
Throw a party, and sing.

Do the civilised sing
When an enemy’s dead?
We’ll be watching our backs
And we’ll carry on killing
For we’re told that we’d better
Avenge our own fallen.

But have we now fallen
Asleep, as they sing?
“We can make the world better
Because he is dead.
We will save you through killing
And we’ve got your back.”

Oh, but can’t we go back
To before they had fallen?
Can’t we stop all the killing
And peacefully sing
As we bury our dead
And try, now, to be better?

If it’s noble, this killing, his words echo back.
And it would have been better by far to have fallen
Than sing and rejoice in the streets now he’s dead.