Cleaver Identity

Our species knows battlefields

Especially those created with bluster

Atop fate’s carving block
straddles cleaver and blade,
sharpened for precise separation
into hunger’s end game,
when all is ready.

And…

Like the local butcher
awaiting another delivery for cold storage,
humankind hangs along its own rails
insanely determined to feast on its own,
seeming to accept war’s gluttonous appetite,
willing to hide its cannibalistic nature
behind a banquet of political smoke and mirrors.

So, how close…

Time’s interminable Now,
mankind’s undeniable ice-cold reality,
this staring at the all-that’s-left scraps
of fate’s butchered fragments
soon to become foreshadowing’s promise
finally made ready for empty-headedness

And its partner…

Self-destruction