The Eve of a new year,
the beginning of the second decade of the millennium,
and the world is still caught up in war-
war on this, war on that.
Casual war, once limited to Fridays,
slipped the dress code and no one noticed.
We play at defense of ill-conceived principles
with plastic-coated guns,
covering greed with noble words and forgetting,
forgetting- or pretending not to know
that suffering is the result
not the cause.
Forgetting the loss of heart that happens in direct assault,
seeing the narcissistic flexing of principles
not the vanity it is.
Forgetting that the enemy is defense.
Forgetting that war is the cheapest of cheap shots.
the kind the alcoholic craves-
temporary, carefully rationalized and delusional-
the mark of the descent into dipsomanic madness.
The self-justified drunkenness,
the pretending not to know,
despite the evidence that glistens and smells on clothes and floor.
Violence breeds violence, leaves scars, prevents healing,
slaps the soul violently into chains,
leaving the heart in tatters,
incapable of compassion,
at least for a while.
Sometimes a very long while.
The virus of winning is epidemic now,
even the weakest host has the delusion
that it is right,
and that gives it the right
all in the name of a fever that was never quite purged-
even in Eden.