In a sky falling down under a Syrian sunset
The wind takes the rising spectre of peace
And blows it north, with a hot, desert wind
All the way back to the fjords of Sweden
For there a dream was given form; to birth hope
Yet Obama’s Nobel Prize sleeps in its function
It has thus far saved no one; will save no one
It gathers weary dust and diminishing kudos
It will dissemble the writ of populist vision
Till a last bird sings its farewell in the trees
Then it will fade like a wraith into the dawn
Leaching dread of night into tomorrow‘s spirit
Unleash again into innocence the engine of war
