Buffoons with bombs.

Water_witch-2by Abigael18 Nov 2013

Clowns masquerade, deceive,
show off destructions wares,
parading their phallic weapons.
Pride, stirred with silver spoons.
Testosterone flexes its muscles,
child-like, we watch their antics.

Ego at its most aggressive,
sparring, propaganda, confusion.
Buffoons play blind mans bluff,
and mind games, a grotesque joke.
Mesmerised, we pray for sanity,
these clowns - out of control.

Intrigue is masked by pride,
and haunted by old memories;
nurturing old hurts, old fears
that lurk in ghostly apparitions,
wrapped in our history, held close
behind the minds battlements.

Testosterone outlives its use,
pour some estrogen into the abyss,
it's time now for the feminine,
ditch fight or flight, try gentle ways.
Together in compromise walk past
aggression, to maturity.

The enemy will not fear to die
if life is simply not worth living.
As masters of our fate, we choose,
to give wings to hate...or love?
Which one of these will take flight,
and fly on to meet man's destiny ...