a short poem on conflict
Can we accomplish anything in war?
Where simply taking what we can.
Or do we need to negotiate?
And alter the sands where we stand.
There’s no pleasure in the compromise.
No blood, no bile, just guts.
But to accomplish nearly what we need?
Ask any addict his drug.
But what if there’s no compromise?
No language and no peace desired?
Much alike; a bird eats his bugs.
How are we all so faulty-wired?
We had thought we’d all ascended.
Upon the golden stairs and arches stood.
Yet we were small and petty begrudged.
Never gave and never could.