the reasons we fight

history is nothing but recorded pain
our true tale is that we still endure
we've never been perfect never sure
the human story is the human stain
yet we see things straight and plain
there's no limit and no real cure
for what we are of that we're sure
we've seen it all in sun and snow and rain
yet in the story there's a golden thread
now bright now dull but always there
we haven't always made the better choice
but in the face of terror and of dread
we've stood up overcome our infant fear
and given hope and decency a voice

monsters from the id

in the deepest parts of every human past
where lie the things we most want to forget
beyond such simple matters as regret
there are old entities both swift and vast
that battle with each other and that cast
shadows in hearts that come with a great debt
that goes not unforgotten in the sweat
of conflict and that's there with the last blast
of any tocsin calling warriors to the fight
without which we would sink into ourselves
and never rise to confront the oldest fears
with all the weapons we can make of light
created new or brought up from the shelves
of every history and all will end in tears

paying the butcher's bill

the lion that has eaten will not stalk
fresh prey until its meal has done its job
fear which makes each limb and digit throb
alarms us even when in light we walk
at the least shadow we startle and balk
the steadiest army turns into a mob
yet cannot hear the last sane soldier sob
and turn his half-bent back and walk
away into the night that has to be
when all our coverings are stripped away
and nothing's left but honesty and pride
the greatest fear is that we'll live to see
that time of horror that most gruesome day
and when it comes will have no place to hide

an evasion

the sense of time that we get from the clocks
that sit on every wall and chide our pace
remind us that life's nothing but a race
from birth until we're locked down in the box
we do not get that from trees rivers rocks
their journey is much longer is no chase
of dollars honour or the warm embrace
or kisses as we're seen off at the docks
we've built ourselves a cage and love it not
without its frame we know ourselves for lost
it is the goal behind the last great hill
without its constraint our hope is simply shot
we dread the alternative for its cost
and do not wish to pay the doctor's bill