We lost our way
In bloody paths today and yesterday
We wake up
Brush and bath our beings
In bloody news
Perspective perverted
Competition praised
Epics too justified violence
For moderns it’s addiction
Reason tool of elite
Faith affected mobs
Intuition servant of con men of God
Peace dull
Carnage alone comforts
Are truth and beauty the same?
Can writers undermine beauty
While pining for truth
Can they forget their duty
in dissection rather than description?
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