War
Fights with itself
Until
It’s is a scrambling mess of bodies
And guns
Discharged
And fully functional
And the mangled wreaths
Of blood and flesh scatter around
As a reminder
Of the wilful ignorance
Of the human condition
To drive itself to the depths of hell
And then say
It is necessary
To survive, to kill
To eradicate the enemy
So that we can fulfil
That which is every empty
And dying
And death will be not our master
But we its king
As we greet it like an old friend
And coming running into its arms
Triumph
We will triumph