Pious Wars For Duplicitous Glory

Crimson banners rise like torn flesh…

Holy words stitched into the fabric of gunmetal.
In Gaza, prayers echo through shattered minarets,
while children’s laughter becomes ash—
a hymn swallowed by smoke.
Russia and Ukraine trade psalms for missiles,
their saints drowned in rivers of iron and bone.

II.
History’s ghosts march beside the present century…

Crusaders with blood-soaked crosses,
Inquisitors sharpening their tongues into swords.
The same old sermon:
“God wills it.”
But the altar is a trench,
and communion tastes of cordite and fear.

III.
Remembering the Thirty Years’ War…

Europe’s veins opened for faith and crown,
while villages burned like votive candles
to gods of ambition.

Remember Rwanda…

Where prayers could not drown the machete’s hymn.
The centuries change their masks,
but the masquerade remains the same.

IV.
Here at home, the war is quieter…

A domestic hymn hummed through clenched teeth

for photo-ops on a gluttonous TV.

Ideologies clash like antlers in winter,
fracturing the brittle ice of democracy.

Such human behavior …

Is no less innocent,
no less ravenous than the wolves circling Kyiv
or the vultures over Gaza.

V.
And beneath the waves…

Where life first whispered its genesis,
we wage another crusade.
Oceans choke on plastic,
whales sing elegies through oil-slicked throats.
Even coral, once an endless stained glass of color,
crumbles like forgotten scripture
under the weight of man’s tithe to greed.

VI.
Species fight, yes…

Lion against hyena,
shark against seal,
yet never to erase the earth itself.
Their wars end with dusk,
while ours burn through centuries,
scorching the opening buds of tomorrow.

For certain believers,

The Halo is no longer Earth’s protection.

It is crumbling.

VII.
Reverse-engineering life’s mysteries…

We unmake what innocence once made.
Where has the grace of mistakes gone?
Can the yin and yang of peace
ever find home again?
Or will the mind drown
in its own heartfelt, often phony tears?

VIII.
So let us not raise arms…

But raise conscience unshackled from dogma,
untainted by the rust of zeal.
For even beasts with fangs and claws
find a rhythm to coexist,
while we, architects of faith and fury,
drown in our own reflection.

The mirror waits, patient,
asking: “Will our species choose harmony
before the oceans forget our evolutional name?”