WARNING:

[nibbed]

WARNING:


There's an intricacy of campaigns
going on around here.
We are only bleeps
on the screens of devils.

A third the angels
took thousands of years from us
learning to manage
their own proudest crowns:
a conglomerate of confusion.

Nosy evil angels
draw assumption as a sword,
while others
arm themselves in automation,
every measure of intoxication,
manipulating their most powerful weapon of all:

silly egos made from burnt mantels
and every oh-so-common human flaw
jammed into a powerful cannon
of devastating friendly fire.

Their primary target?
The family unit,
our greatest troop of hope,
the place from which we should find
unconditional love
and renewed strength.

All the while
chipping away at our outskirts,
as our braver,
worn guards
crawl the perimeter,
seeking new recruitments
that may or may not destroy us.

Hold on fast, dear ones.
Wear the armor.
Bind and pull together,
forgive and love.

Make feasts and parties
in the foxholes
we've dug together,
blanket those lovely black sheep
in your own softened, white fleece.

Play and pray, love each other
through the stripes of regret,
through the heartache of fatality.

It's a raging battle,
never forget your comrades.