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Carcasses of ripped bloodlines

Floating over a red sea of egoistic rivalries whisper

A question lingering on bloody breaths,

“Was it nature’s nurture?”

Some could discern

The debris of detrimental indifference on the shores, a heaping

Few uttered with remorse,

“What good was it to become warriors

In a war where none are defeated yet none had victory?

Destroyed are the waters of peace

Now engaged in tides of rebellion “.

But all complied, with the wise that preached

The dead are not important and death an opportunity,

This is what happens

When narrow shores

Send their ships to claim the

Shallow watersrunning deep.

The fight is for that mighty tide which claims it’s own hierarchy.

The ocean was silent yet a privileged participant.

Did it fail in empathy?

Or was it the wave who boasted superiority?

Stupid jumps to conclusions, it would be said.

Naive are but we, the passengers on the ship

To believe the boisterous

And trust the apathetic

Or was it knavery disguised as sanity?

Was it an idiot’s dream or a corrupted scheme?

The ships were wrecked,

But nonetheless,

The corpses celebrated in victory.

Their lives decaying, yet drowned even the enemy,

An upsurge of rotten humanity drawing glory from the floating flesh

Creating a freshly rustic paradigm of Mankind

Where sadist minds lured rebellion

But seldom, kind hearts yearned peace.

Unbothered shores, orchestrating new ships,

The dead dissolved in the sea cursing

The drops of insanity gnawing the last morsels of compassionate minds,

A faceless pool of blood gushing in mankind’s various hues sinking in an abyss of calamitous sanity.

The ripples frown with concern and speak calmly,

“The dead will be forgiven, but their death not.

The calamity is calm but the aftermath will be not.

The living decipher death as the absence of life

And the dead live among the living

Still questioning their unparalleled journey, but paralleled destinies. “

All destruction is a time construct

And all of mortality depends on time to live.

The Inquisition of time with mortality,

The ocean silent as ever?

The waves move with the same purpose?

Mortality whispers in answer, a mere tremble of a voice,

“The dead die and their death still an opportunity,

To pick up battles, to

Test the patience of the living.”

How many calamities will they endure?

And how much death can they watch

Before they revolt?

Will it be before their souls turn irrevocably irrelevant

With no desire to live?

A walking flesh, with pulsating heart, functional limbs

But rotten consciousness, and decaying conscience

A new race of no empathy, the dead will then be lost forever

With the passengers ready to board the ships. Yet again.

Time assures mortality.

The matrix of human civilization would alter,

The climates of change will weather new possibilities,

The ocean will raise its voice,

Tides shall move with humble dignity,

The winds would be celebrating,

Ripples of peace will dance

When all the ships from all the shores carrying all of mankind’s diversity

Will be surfacing over the waters of humanity and equality.

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