(currently unavailable in a poetry volume -- maybe #40 eventually)

i just heard his sons are supposedly dead
i'm alarmed at my joy in the face of this dread
i know he's been evil and killed a multitude
but smiling at this tragedy just seems rude
nobody wins within a war game
no one can stay obliviously the same
i grieve the options of long long ago
when compassion thwarted the rash overthrow
when relationships were tended with care
instead of mistreating our kin over there
and millions of lost loveless moments have led
to this season of lying in conflict's bed
i guess i'm referring to more than just us
or myself or him or the hothead fuss
i grieve the option above every other
the greatest response of loving one another
what does love mean in such a twisted mess
maybe it means grieving more and gloating less
maybe it means remembering what matters
instead of rejoicing when foes writhe in tatters
i know it's a fight we're itching to win
but let's take time to define victory again