The War

The current moment is much like any other moment.
Somewhere, there is a battle taking place.
Wars without warning,
Wars without purpose,
Wars that don’t need to be happening.
It would be creepy if it wasn’t so constant,
Always rooted in selfishness,
The violence is profuse.
The defenders didn’t invite this.
Defying an alien power, a foreign demand
Is a right of the sentient.
I might find your arrogance amusing
If it wasn’t hurting so many people.
The reflective lashing out serves no one.
Both sides end up harmed.
Some wars produce harms that are harder to see
Than craters in fields, fallen buildings and missing limbs,
But that does not make those harms imaginary.
War sucks power and coherence out of all that participate,
Willing or no.
All we can do—if we can’t get it to end—
Is to paint over the wounds,
Cover up the cracks with some spackle,
And make use of whatever capability remains.
You might ask for forgiveness, but it won’t come easily.
We may have to leave that to a newer generation
Whose scare are more attenuated,
Who never knew the beauty of the city
Before the war brought it to ruin.