The Thirst is Unmistakably in the Future

Fresh flesh bleeds upon the ancient grounds of history
Flesh that isn't our own
Those chunks of human life belong to our brothers and sisters born to delete the wrong doings of war sickened people.
They fight.
They die.
Does the earth ever taste it?
The flesh, I mean.
I pray not for the day it does.
For when it comes,
We will run into the open arms of a new born Earth and its thirst for blood.

Guide that inspired this poem: 


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