by Joseph Coleman

Created on: June 05, 2009

We are War

You no longer merit the flower, for the cost of your air.

A long-living dust lays where your hand once touched Jesus.

It is a whimpering thing that never gets to go and kill where it wants.

It lies, harbored in the rest of its jeans, for the genes of retro-biology.

Why is it that his bomb looks like a penis?

Who can say where he will lay forms, in holes, next?

His war is with himself, and his heart is in a somewhere cave!

The ever cost of retaliation is always bent on violating the dreams of others.

Why does this crack in his soul exist?

Because to let the world be, in a constant goodness,

is to allow a peace which never supposes to come.

It is inoculate, in human's suffering, that some lead a vengeance;

it is as if possessed, that the human wars!

No one, ever, has been able to stop humans from being human.

They kill as if their lives depended upon it!

They destroy as a means of finding something to build!

They will come to your town and blow it to bits,

so they can prove their ability to rebuild in their own image!

This, above all, is what they can do best!

This above all, for they do nothing else well.

Any glory elsewhere, is a tripe among the kings!

The Kings have the power; a qualification of having no soul.

Those who mumble beneath them, crumble into the dirt.

A grumbling cannot be tolerated, for it may birth a truth,

and the truth is the first victim of war.

The truth is that no human is above another;

no human can exist without another;

no human should 'be', without another.

And yet, we are.

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