War

It has come down to sides
Thinking and reasoning was in more thoughtful times,
Up in a thirsty head of blood
Cells pitted against the membrane walls,
You feed to believe the given love
Is not enough drowned out by war trumpet calls.
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Here and now verse the way it was
Clashing in the frontal lobe,
Me and my have always coexisted
With all this damage done I can't concentrate nor careless to have listened,
Let the creator mop a cold dead floor
By tomorrow creating a million more.
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Remember long ago
Forget the recent,
Learn from mistakes, in total control
To turn out something half decent,
Which is and always was thoughtful times
within a head as clear and blue a small round globe,
Think not of these bad thoughts which truly hides
In the hope of the waste they call this space the occipital lobe.
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