There exists a perfect image,
In one's own mind.
Often it's a place most like Paradise, bathing in the Sun,
Untouched by the small raptures of man,
Forever lush in its wealth, its bounty.
Thus is the futility of war.
For in war, no such image exists
All is shattered by the poison of a bullet's lead
Wars unspeakable, unaccountable by all,
Hidden from the TV screen, only referred to in past tense,
Yet they grow and multiply without pretense.
Even Obama calls for war,
Constant expansion, humanitarian issues, what more!?
To rob the People of our bounty,
And to send it off to another Sadami.
All while old man Brzezinski plans over Afghanistan,
Stuck in the panic fans,
They bombard it with a tsunami.