The Stele

it is addressed thusly:
A vision.
it reads:
Grief is a species of wrath, he said
As we surveyed the new war dead
With blood bright like flashing cars
Eyes shaded, veiled by the stars
The mind is a knife, its flashing edge
Transparent, conceals its zero hedge
Decides for good, decides for ill
Of seeing they say, never gets its fill
But that tears make it look inside
So we avenge not once, lest we slide
Into the jaws of each hungry child
By loss and bitterness made wild
But having nothing to recompense I'm told
Man must avenge them sevenfold.

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