Fate’s Butchered Battlefields


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
and its cannibalistic nature as a given
as we await the next show of political smoke and mirrors.

How close looms Time’s insistent Now,
mankind’s undeniable ice-cold reality freezing our discernment,
leaving us staring at the all-that’s-left scraps of fate’s butchered battlefields,
aware foreshadowing was ignored,
and now the inevitable end game is threatening humanity’s survival
as sagacity stands impotent of reason and common sense.

Humankind in free-fall needs to seriously embrace a reality check,
taking note that mother earth rushing up…

isn’t soft.