War
 
ancient artifact, modern struggle
for possession --- value in ascension---
individuals in heat of passion for power,
fresh egos after flattery's shower.
what made us one now makes us enemies
and men stand ready to disown their families.
faction against faction, brother against brother,
the warnings of elders no longer matter.
passion rises and it flows to the tip of swords
ready to slash at prompt of wrong words.
the elders cannot be trusted, they have sold
their souls and clout for bags of gold.
mothers mop their own faces with cloth
wondering what could be of worth
than unity of tribe and family
over schisms trite and silly.
 
but old treasure and new haggle
for ownership---sense in detention---
chaos has shown his ugly face again
over reasons myopic and vain.
the gold mask belongs to the tribe,
immortalized by orator and scribe
of one hundred and a hundred more years
plus one hundred more of tears
when ancestors decided that one was stronger
those factions made sense no longer.
it was handed down generations
of kings of glorious appellations,
the symbol of a people, proud and able.
it spurn myth, legend and fable.
those who think cannot stand tall,
this madness makes them crawl.
 
there was no enemy at all,
the enemy was right within us
left to find reasons for its cause.