Confusion

What is it worth, the endless running,

a black tongued spark of endless drumming.

who speaks with that of false securities

wiping away bloody purities

of an young age but an old mind

what some seek but cannot find

to fight each other to the death

of young children with shortened breaths

the cliff-crested world stands to the strong

yield, the poor, the kind, the wrong

and for war you must chase on