On War, to My Friends

What is self-obsession you ask?

My friends, where’s your education?

Unless you want to don that death mask

And bask in the feigned adulation

 

Perhaps your journeys have meaning

That you and your tribes have applied

It allows for all that seething

And yes, the so-called pride

 

But have you confused a path with truth?

One that makes blood your pen

The one you use to write on youth

For it was already written, Amen

 

No solution is what you say

Oh, but deep down you know there is

It’s the real sacrifice, not your way

You’d be left naked, with no His

 

It cannot be, it cannot go

All that you’ve learned is real

Well, that and a salve for your egos

A numbing agent so you don’t feel

 

I must tiptoe around reality

Careful not to bruise or stun

Watch my breath, be saintly

As you donate money, and your guns

 

Because my words are insensitive

Cruel and there for your cancel

Can one be dosed a sedative

For calling folklore insubstantial?

 

Must I apologize again

For failing to understand these tales?

I cannot find this glen

Over which your sirens wail

 

Should you not have regrets

Over that which your myths beget?

Why must I go on examining

That which by now should be vanishing?

 

In years past you’ve called me an atheist

Now you prefer the term nihilist

But what if your brains have been hijacked

And you, my friends, are the actual wacks?