Ness!

by p.b. wells

I have walked through history with dust in my mouth and blood on my boots.

I was there when a sharpened stone ended the first argument.

I was there when kings learned poor boys could be traded for borders.

I watched empires rise with marble teeth and gold prayers, then rot from the belly like fruit left in the sun.

Rome burned. Troy burned. cities nobody names anymore burned so clean even the ghosts left.

I saw men march under crosses, flags, moons, eagles, and every holy excuse ever stitched to cloth.

they all said God was with them.

funny thing.

God always seemed to be on both sides until the screaming started.

I saw boys run into cannon fire because some clean bastard called it honor.

I saw mothers dig through smoke and brick for pieces of children while speeches were written miles away by men with soft hands.

I saw trenches swallow a generation.

I saw camps where the air itself looked ashamed.

I saw cities turned to ash in one bright flash.

and after all that, after the graves, the flags, the medals, the prayers, we learned not one goddamned thing.

we still hand the keys to the loudmouth evolutionary dropout.

we still cheer when some swollen tyrant points at strangers and says, there, there is your enemy.

blame the foreigner. blame the poor. blame the darker face. blame the wrong prayer. blame anything except the bastard picking your pocket while promising salvation.

I have watched the whole sorry spectacle. kings. generals. presidents. holy men. businessmen selling patriotism by the barrel.

they build monuments with stolen bread.

they build statues tall enough to hide the bodies.

and the people clap.

Christ, how the people clap.

I have walked the same road for centuries.

different boots. different flags. same mud.

same hate. same lies. same little men standing on the backs of the desperate and calling themselves giants.

and I am tired now.

bone tired.

tired of courage shoveled under speeches.

tired of sacrifice chopped up into campaign music.

tired of decent people worked hollow while silk-suited parasites lecture them about duty.

still, some stupid piece of me keeps looking for us poor dumb animals to grow up before we strike the match and call the fire progress.