Both hands tied, there’s no advantage,
Neither side here seeks to gain.
Mutually assured destruction,
A clear deduction, searing pain.
At a stalemate, two lame Kings
And those who died to keep them there,
Running round in endless rings,
Dead soldiers’ souls’ songs fill the air.
The calculated steps we tread,
So assured that we can win,
And if we live, to rise or fall,
They’ll all recall war’s calls, its sin.
Bound for centuries to come,
Plaguing generations,
Your trauma tears past moons and sons,
Infects our minds, such vile mutations.
Suffering from palpitations,
Anxieties that we can’t place
All the faults of violations,
The distant pasts that we can’t trace;
Or rather that we dare not,
For I fear what I don’t know,
But even worse the validation
Of the cruelties man can sow.
Of the pains in all our brains,
Bred into us like hounds at pounds,
Whose cruelties now are quite renowned;
Yet no solution has been found
Oppression keeps its putrid sound.
“Society” to which we’re bound.

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