War

He has moved across nations: new, old, and those just beginning.

He is ancient, yet a child, born to those who harbor hatred and a thirst for change.

He is a machine, taking in the lives of men, women, and children alike, unwilling in the beginning,

But succumbing to the ancient and carnal desire to fight.

Fight, fighting for rights, fighting for love, love of country and love of man, love

That is destroyed by the common goal to defeat the other, no matter what.

All hope for an end, and end that will defeat the other, no matter what.

Occasionally a standing occurs, human feelings return to all men, and happiness is celebrated.

Celebrations abound, for God deserves his praise that we shower upon him, hoping to

Make it last forever, so one does not need to return to bright flashes and the common goal.

So quick comes the end, that one only needs to blink to forget, but forget you cannot,

For lives have been taken, and lives have been forsaken, and God has taken too many men too young.

One needs to remember, though, that fighting has been natural among men since the beginning.

Fighting is our nature, is it not?

But fighting does not define us.

One needs only to remember those that he protects, those the he fights for,

And all shall be forgiven in the eye of the beholder.

So I give my regards to the barely-grown man, crumbled to his knees,

Crying and begging at the first imploding booms of celebratory fireworks,

Glorifying the country that pushed an innocent boy into a soldier’s body,

His scarred eyes viewing the world through a glare of permanent dust and sunlight.