The Strife, The War, Our God

(i made this poem late 2025)

A heroic war under one starry banner is the closest thing we have to a holy sacrifice in God’s Honor--a sacrifice billions would put up with to achieve the ascension that is mercy. It touches the inner machinery that is our society and the reason it has upheld--morality. Not the basic morality of right or wrong, but of bad or worse. It is a satisfaction to sacrifice satisfaction, a penny for a dime. That same currency may be worth less material-wise, but it is one of God’s valued. To weep is catharsis; To cry is to let our emotions soar far above the Gates of ***, and to gently sip Heaven’s finest wine. Today, not much drives humanity to a perfect war designed to eradicate rather than predate evil. Blood spilt is you finally repaying God, but today's battles are ones of superficial origin: territory, profit, ideologies, hatred. The only battle worth fighting is to win the global science--the science that allows us to see the darkness around us, yet radiates a warmth that makes the celestials flush. Today, nothing follows such besides the battle within ourselves to give everything we hold close, and to gain what we hold dear. Our blood will be exchanged for the sweet musk of grapes, and our tears exchanged for the brightest of cheeks. Today, the race to God and the race to aid his creations are the only battles where each side wins. The only blood spilt will be that of the accidental scalpel cuts. The scalpel of our precision and our sharpness, with angels as our blacksmiths.