The haunted, haunted species

 

Walking on powdery sand

hiding many corpses

under its crumbling crust,

Saving the feet from coils of barbed wire,

Afraid of rifles

peeking from behind the sandbags,

Surrounded by countless bullet scars

on the walls,

Stared at by the corpses

of once lively houses and shops,

we walk in the bloodied maze of life.

 

We are a very scared, insecure species,

So to feel our fears with more depth,

the war zones we have to create,--

this vast scary game of violence and anger.

 

We carry immeasurable inherited sorrow,

The entire species dabbed with

the clammy colors of sorrow,

Plastic smiles we carry at the most,

And even this vanishes

just with the clicking latch on a

creaky door with complaining hinges,--

a trigger, a fuse for blasting the fears in us,

Ribbed and ridiculed

by the captivating madness,

we carry our cranky self

on the thin paths leading to

wars, strife, violence, blood and gore.