In foreign lands where the idea of the prayer to one's religion becomes a foreign ideal Where gunshots become synonymous with the call to worship and can be heard within one's kitchen Ancient texts create tattered homes among the lives of many wishing for such that heals A balancing act of survival and devotion A cataclysmic wave of emotion makes anger and aggression the only thing that seems logical But if one were to pause only for a moment And consider something more philosophical Like how maybe we could learn to love instead of fight, and behold We wouldn't need bullets to tell others who is right But such ideas are cast to the wind When battles erupt Over whose god will be more holy in the end But the holy quest to find the heretics only creates holes in homes that hope for happiness And not corruption Of the soul And of the very being of which they pray and stand for Hoping to see the glorious day when they can sing and praise without the worry of a gun put to their head But that is seen is gore A mutilated massacre of not only the people they love but the ideas to their children they hoped to show more And yet here we sit Trying to piece together the media's bombardment of ideas and cultural inefficiencies The desensitization of the wrongness to what is happening There must be something we're missing Or maybe we've already missed it Because how could we watch idle while the world here and around us burns From the fires of the pure and impure ideas That we pit Against one another in a subconscious battle of wrong and right Soul and mind lost under the darkness of a eternal night But we must find the light If not for ourselves then for those who need a reprieve For the chaos that envelops their world That has no mercy And a mind for only greed Because There is a need For a soon to be foreign term that has died in the fire but can be found in the ashes It is peace