Is war the last possible creative act?
The proprietors of banks looking for gain against the weak and poor.
The building up of disagreement to the point of anger and rage,
Until feelings are no more, their importance goes up in flame.
Fire from buildings, smoke for clouds, and blood like water.
Evil? or possibly jazz music from Satan’s mouth. The night looks darkest in the light,
as the body toll raises from each day and night.
Music from the marching drones, the bombardment of homes, and the destruction of souls.
Fight, fight, fight, until the battle is won,
The destruction is creation through the mad mans tongue.
The end is nigh, the light is black, and the black is absent
Until the charred and boiled flesh of the poor crisps in the embers.
The blood boils, and the sanity unravels.
War creates the greatest of troubles.
The automobiles assemble with the tools of intuition,
Missiles and tanks, Motorbikes crank, with letters from loved ones whispering “come home.”
The cracking of bones and the fruition of stones.
The more people die, the same become born.
All apart of the assembly line entering our homes.
Wouldn’t mankind rather create then destroy?
Or is destruction apart of the creation moving in the motion of Fibonacci’s spirals?
One must understand that with life comes death, and with light comes dark,
the moon is nothing without the sun,
but one must die without being buried in a tomb.
All coming from the totalitarian creationism, for gain and wealth must start from one man’s debt.
One man, can be the cause of such great death.
The names are remembered through memorials, like a cold breeze on a November morning.
The flowers picked for respect, left at the graves of men that no longer exists.
And yet those flower’s death’s are all symbolic of the life’s that have been plucked.
Though existence is the greatest creation, War seems to be the last possible form of our extinction.
As September reigns, text books are made.
A short paragraph seems to justify the death of man.
As children study a date and time period of are forgotten lands.
Only to teach them that death is not to be feared,
As life is only a stepping stone to something larger, a beautiful unknown.
No, life is not to be forgotten, and the unknown will stay begotten.
Logically I assume that we must all live for today.