..there was a war that nobody noticed because nobody knew it was going on.
It was a war in which they weren’t allowed to bury their loved ones.
A war where they weren’t even allowed to make love to comfort themselves.
A war where the young men, whose job would have been to protect them, were weeping and cowering behind the women.
And it was a war unlike any other war.
It was a war where some very old people could finally taste sweet victory.
Old people who couldn’t run very well.
Old people whose muscles were shriveled.
Old people who would have been raped, robbed and toppled over in any other war..besides this one.
In the only type of war old people could ever win at.
Because they bound the hands of babies behind their backs
so they couldn’t strike back when they grew up.
And then they stripped them of their passions, out of both jealousy and spite.
And when the darkness fell to blanket their old bones, there they would sleep soundly, noisily munching on leathery gums.
Dreaming of the days they used to be handsome
enough to attract their young victims without much resistance at all.
It was a war where there was no glory awaiting them.
Nor adoring cheers from any crowds.
No beautiful maidens to lay wreaths at their feet.
With no monuments to commemorate their so-called victories.
For there were no threats to the land which needed eradicating, except for the threats they laid down themselves.
With barely any of them exhibiting admirable, productive, humane nor sensible virtues…
Well, none which the people weren’t beaten into pretending were there, anyway.
It was a war which wasn’t a war at all. It was simply an attack.
After spending entire lives expending their tantrums and
force-feeding delusions into one another.
Lost in childish ceremonies of playing pretend.
Spinning, scampering and frantically scurrying on fancy and withered stems.
Within a rusted cheap tin hamster wheel-
worn down from this “once upon a time” golden and glorious lion’s cage.
Round and about, squeaking and creaking.
Racing to the beginning of an end they would never find.
Wheezing and hacking with eternal exhaustion.
It was a war which bred no heroes and left no tales of any final triumphs.
For the times that would have been spent
(on the anniversaries which would have been celebrated)
going to be occupied by persistent and divine concentrations.
The monsters we were forced to live with, we were now free to walk away from.
And as the monsters we were forced into becoming,
we were now allowed to commit our suicides in peace.
All of it, all of this, in preparation for You.
While some were busy clearing away the rubble of their destruction, so that you could dance unobstructed…
others were faithfully untying knots tightened tight by crooked and greasy fingers.
Just so that you could run your fingers along
the smooth and silken folds of a life crafted from truest bliss.
Knowing that you owned it.
For you see, my child, there’s a certain set of miracles..from that final war which wasn’t a war at all.
Even after successfully stripping away our abilities to love
(which made it impossible to be loved
thus making it so easy to hurt others
and all too easy to ignore one another)
they failed dismally in removing the ongoing need to be loved.
And as hate filled as they tried making the woman and as meek as they tried fashioning the man, we would remain haunted by one another’s absence.
Which means that they left nothing but misery in every corner of our homes.
And our entire lives.
That sour eyed, weary hearted sort of misery
that even the lowest beast will prowl to the ends of this Earth to eliminate.
If he wasn’t lucky enough to avoid it being forced on him by the really
old people from a war that wasn’t a war at all.
The type of misery that was finally lifted. The type of misery you no longer need to experience.
Because it became a tiresome enough thing
to keep wasting beautiful art, for empty eyes covered by cataracts.
And because it became an exhausting habit to
labor on crafting the finest wines, for taste buds gone dull to all things.
Except for the taste of more insults, more scolding and more lies
thrown at us. And our blood.
It was a war that nobody noticed and nobody believed was going on.
Until we had to, for..