Long before we have love to give
us peace by UN Charter,
digestion does ever insist
life will devour life to live
as death our secret partner
pretends to merely subsist
on whatever we choose to kill,
chicken, rabbit or snail darter
and all who cannot resist
overfeeding our sacred will
simply because we're smarter
at grabbing and keeping space
for these negative mortal joys
deny their fatal limitation
as games of class and race,
like ruling superior toys'
obedient dolls attack
so many die that few move on
paths of minus regulation
fast forward this tape-loop run,
fighting to stay on track
to the final destination.

Thus life beguiling life to live
with death in costume drama,
confounding all who dare to give
voice to buried trauma,
the haunted question why
the violent, masking their dread
with wars of sword and ink,
would rather be dead than think
they're going to die?

Yet life still loves its life to give
the children of our passion
delight with all who live
as endless emanation
through cycles of birth and death
when higher selves may gently guide
to deeper sense with every breath
the way of return to child and tribe,
fertile soil for careful gardners,
balancing joy with work and rest,
a country village of sharing partners
who goddess Earth in love caressed.

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John Talbot Ross