shields me from machinegun fire,
bombs exploding over cities,
people screaming, dying,
cities burning, oceans boiling,
rivers running red with blood,
Above my grave eagles soar
on outstretched wings, gliding like
angels over a wasteland created
by men who can read, write,
pry secrets from distant stars,
probe the beginnings of life,
and compose music so beautiful
they weep when they hear it,
but do not put down their swords.