War Machined

Why, in war, are we so taxed?
If you should wish to war,
leave your fellow man and country behind.
Go fight in the sea and drown in your pettiness.
I'm sure this slight flies by more than just I.

Those who've seen the human,
conditioned,
lecherous in sin,
unmasked and carried whimsy-less
through cold deserts and dark jungles,
through cities burning,
pungent with the acrid corpse flame
of a gas masked soldier-toy.
Memory is past, to those
who've bled deaths blood,
letting run dry
their mind with time.

Mindless.
Weak and futile -
machined, dreamed 9 to 5.
Subtle hints toward what's real,
though much too much like an exhausted star.
We survive a cruel life
to death,
meaningless, with no true feel -
contribution to death's evil hand.

A hope exists,
shedding tears of longing,
floating - tattered wings - shallow breathing.
The fires dim in our souls
for this is not a world for children...
no more than it is for cattle,
pumped and culled; feeding festering beliefs
to a society that wishes to play in the sand,
but is left tossing around frothing seas...
...fire-blood in the water,
curdling and staining,
denying nursery thoughts a grasp on reason.