All countries of the world,
have their own agendas,
their own appearances,
the customs of the past,
meeting the feelings of the present.
Wars are being fought,
on all sides,
between and among us,
where we stand,
we all eventually fall.
All of us spit at the other,
encouraging the snickering,
knowing it is wrong but still marching,
left, right… left, right… left, right,
not remembering blood is red when exposed.
With closed eyes,
inability to see clearly,
the charming beauty before us,
far too wrapped up in our own cocoon,
we have swallowed the rotten meat.
They feed us poorly,
our skin turns raw colors,
the leaders know their power,
where they stand,
but a few remaining will not ingest the poison.
Pisaries Creator 
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