War is the awful cry of contradiction.
Formed by a body of individuals
who kill for a living,
who rely on selectively-shot Intelligence
from an institution bitter to the sweet marrow,
that knows the self-soothe only in uniformity,
rationale untruths and violence.
War engenders, cyclically, semiconsciously,
the opposite of its goal,
stirring the seething pot of more.
Holy War is, with every harrowing cry made by law,
mismatch, genocide, hypocrisy do-or-die,
human blood, bone and brain, yet
without the faintest cry of doubt,
the ultimate oxymoron.
I had a long rant intended about the Syria intervention, Iran ulterior motive, and the Afghanistan resolution that could have happened years ago, but calculated to happen now to justify/placate/allow the next stage of Middle-East oil conquest (and make it appear as if Obama earned his Peace Prize). Instead, here’s the poem, which could apply to broader war contexts.