The Hairy Battle of Human Being

Why aren't we done painting the Art of War?
What are we still fighting for?

All the lands have been pillaged and conquered.
The air still reeks of the conflicts we've conjured.

This planets private properties have all be claimed.
Heritage and Historical sights have all been officially named.

Unable to agree that the moon is humanities joint territory.
Unstable people take a stand, repeating family memory.

Still, some do peddle deeds to stars.
The next exurb lots will be refi'd on Mars.

Sacrifice anticipates a victorious tomorrow,
inheriting the debt of our last generations sorrow.

Replacing freedom fighters with tyrannical terrorists,
dancing the limbo line, politico tango in religious trysts

Bad blood curdles staining with fear,
Hindsight is not visible when standing so near.

Death for Liberty, the sacrifice of being right,
betting it all on maybe's and might.

(somehow living in this moral servitude
feels more like rhetorical platitude)

Competitive fabric woven in narcissistic natures,
adaptive and reactive matrix of complex creatures.

Will we only be sated when there's nothing more to take?
Are we merely fated to feuding over pride at stake?

Predictably, in the year twenty fifteen you may find
and even agree, it is well past evolutionary time
that We can no longer be called a species of man-kind
The artists of making War, our masterpiece, a human crime.


Image of painting by John Singer Sargent (1919), "Gassed" Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons.