The War (Poem by: F Isci) When an enemy enters a land not of their own, do they not notice how a rose grows beautifully with the shine of teardrops upon them? Do they not notice an innocent child catching a butterfly? Do they not notice the creative culture these people establish in their daily life? Do they not notice the young and old awaiting for their open welcome as hosts into their homes for a cup of tea. Or has the enemy become so engulfed with greed that they have already planned the worst of destroying the art that these people have built year after year with nourishing ideas. The war of the enemy only has the heart of destroying what is pure and what is pure is blank from their minds. They do not have the eyes of appreciation, just the eyes of blind desire.