The atmosphere is tense now
Emotions now are pent-up
Both divides seek for a bow
Both divides are like a cup
With contents soon to out flow

Will creator or creation hold this brawl?
Will reason overcome this season?
I think nothing will hold this brawl
The mulishness of man helps this battle season
Will this bring man soon to crawl?

Sticks and stones all persons seek
For neither willing to concede
Even nature darkens at the coming of this battle
As love for fellow has recede Each seeks for the end of the other

Sticks and stones now rise aloft
Skulls and bones quake on impact
As blood helps in their transit
As the architects of man's ascent
Now symbolize his plummet

Faux pas now made to exist
For after self-destruct little is left to resist
Does man know he is tilt at windmills?
And after shadows he raises fist
For in truth his enemy lays within

'tilt at windmills' that is to fight enemies that do not exist.

Please your comments, suggestions and criticisms are welcome.

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