The Murder

There was the war
cold as ice.
No one knew when it began
No one knew why it existed.
There was, but, the war
cold and oh-so-meaningless.

And then there were
those two.
Completely oblivious
of the ways of the world.
Completely unaware of the war.
So beautiful was their world,
the small beautiful world
only they knew.
Such was the wonder
of love,
The love they knew.
They sang,
they danced,
they laughed
and they dreamt.
They lived in a world
without wars
without hate.
Oh! And without names too.

"What is in a name!" she asked,
not knowing the ways of the world.
Yes, they were blinded
but not by their love.
They were blinded
by innocence.
For they knew not
that the beauty of the rose
was actually in the name.
They knew not
that the world accepted the rose
only because it was a rose
and never for its beauty
or fragrance.

The world knew not
of beauty or fragrance.
The shameless world.
The cold, brutal world.
They knew not, anything.

And all that it took
for the world to murder their dream
was a small vile of poison.