A thought-ridden tangent

Sitting still is said to be so easy,
But if they knew what challenges lie therein:
First, one must return oneself, by hearing
The burning snake of breath, which winds around
The locked-up vault of light, fire wrought in ice.
This we call our body, the swirling mass
Of atoms, changing every second, but
Eternally still, like the spiral twisting
Within itself until the end of space,
Which does not move, which tricks our eyes, the sugar
Of our deception. Although it's sweet, it won't destroy
Our hunger for the food sustaining, nectar
Of perfection. As the bee gives fruit unto the flower,
Love brings fullness to the soul of life.
         See, my thoughts, the driving arrows of
My mind, have slain the clearness of my mirrored glass.
I am like the strength-betraying nation,
Whose downfall is its glory self-perceived.
It wins its wars and conquers all its foes,
Or so it says, for if one kills a thousand souls,
One's wholeness then has gone. Its law is worthless:
It says “Thou shalt not murder'” and yet it kills.
How much did it cost to train ten thousand
Soldiers, when they could be saving lives?
And did the rich-ones, who the land control,
Pay for this, or was it from the shallow
Wallet of the working people, those
Who pay for wars and shed their blood in them.
If they sat down and spent some time to think,
Their land in blood of war they would not sink.