Holy Wars Between Mad Men - a poem

Whose war are we even fighting anymore
as battle borne children are vaporized in heat
blasts, and crystal balls reveal what history
books already told us.

When they were read
about in stories, or etched into drawings
or brushed on to canvas. Before the photograph
gave us unrelenting images of carnage
of the brutalized and torn apart. When warnings
were issued as mass graves were shown
housing the bones of a million lost in devastation
but we all shrugged and said "too bad." When
men came home flight after flight in caskets
and we said, oh, too bad. We had the proof
glaring on box television for years, before
Widescreen, Flat-screen TV's were even
remotely fantasized about, we had it, we had
evidence.

As children starved, and died
trapped in distant lands, we had imagery
that our little bombs were destroying people
with bodies with same composition as ours
and yet we shrugged. And, we didn't learn,
as mad men declared himself king of the world
or idiots, depending on which side you ask
did we not expect this? many did, many saw
signs on bringing on of wars, but we decided it was okay
that a  mad men with control over armies, and bombs
was fit to toss them wherever he wanted,
when truth is always truth: that rich men don't die
in their own wars, but poor men do, and an epitome
of fortune sits strapped to his high-chair and barks
out order in cloud of inquiries, to what?

Perhaps distract, to cause chaos, watching worlds
burn for pure entertainment. To what levels
of outcry can remorseless men be changed,
and the answer is perhaps none, but stories
will roll in, as a consequence for actions taken,
and it'll be there's dead or ours, probably more of theirs
as if that is the ultimate victory when children's
flesh has to be torn from their bones
while small packaged men can measure each others
dicks. What small value we place on life, what contest
we turn war into, there are winners, in that one
side still structurally stands, but with how much blood
and how long till the crown is too heavy to sustain?

We are a culture of violence, we thrive on it, a culture
of tantrum throwing children content on eye for eyes
and quid pro quo, and it is always men at the helm
steering the ship into oncoming traffic. oh,
we Americans, we love to self-sabotage.