True wars are waged at night. 

Night that can kiss the sun,

Night that can burn the skin,

Night that can delete the liquid from the body. 

True wars do not depend on sun or moon.

True wars seek cerebral activity

For that's all it takes.

 

Heaven need no understanding of 

harps and halos

It need only an understanding of

love and lessons.

 

Hell need no understanding of

horns and heat

It need only an understanding of

animosity and atrocity.

 

The night with which wars wage

Plants the moon in my skull

With a brain embellished with stars.

 

One side praises the world I have affected,

Reminds me of my power,

Recharges my spirit.

 

The other side demeans the world I have tainted,

Removes my power from me,

Rescues my spirit from the intoxications of optimism.

 

Each side debates in an auditorium in which

I am the only audience member.

I clap for both sides,

I scold both sides, 

I correct both sides. 

 

When the war is waged and wears the stars to

thin crisps of broken dreams 

or cracks the moon into 

fragments of hope and peace

I must close my eyes and ease myself

But alas, the war wages on when night has begun.