Mea Maxima Culpa

It seems such a simple thing,
so easy to understand.
In my world I remain king,
and all is done right by my hand.

Driven by that which I love,
a world undone by what I do.
To grant them peace's dove,
a thousand score must be run through.

Please let it be worth it,
this sacrifice seems too great.
In our victory our sins we acquit,
that which we left behind smolders with hate.

What we give for a future,
is what we take from another's past.
Lives traded just a feature,
of those values to which we hold fast.

What makes us right,
and what makes them wrong?
This cannot be decided by a fight,
though blood may flow and memory be long.

I care not for gods bounty,
his is not what denies my sleep.
For no faith may answer that entreaty,
producing nightmares from my rest to keep.

Forgive us our sins,
each of them committed in your name.
For when that army wins,
you brand us as murderers all the same.

For this alone I beseech thee,
understand us in our darkest hour.
And in your understanding set us free,
for it is only within your power.