I can’t believe in this world, we still face these crises.

I can’t believe that we fight and kill like people

are pawns and don’t matter.

The stench of death lies over the land. The oppressed are hungry

and tired, and the oppressors fat and restless.

What is it all for?

What is any of it for?

An acre of another man’s land?

A barrel of oil, slick black blood

languidly fueling the heart

of this terrible machine?