Odyssey

The Ancient Odyssey of clubs to bombs from red ochre handprints on cave walls to the destroyer of worlds is a long-traveled road with the wormy flesh of war and blood-soaked fields where wailing tears of Mothers fall endlessly upon the Earth as footprints vanish from battlegrounds over and over and barriers are built to hide behind leaving silent confusion standing as sentinels guarding the internal workings of the soul that clamor in times of plenty and hide in times of hate locked in the mortal human shell pacing back and forth in prisons of their fears finding man has not changed trapped by bridled thinking from the past frightened by new worlds, new faces whose dreams become nightmares trampled on by those who've become mummified flesh dressed in cloth ranting in unison believing in things that exist only in their minds like ghostly shadowed imagined images as they travel through the portal of time creating new battlefields, where flies and crows feast on the dead before their names are etched in stone covered over a thousand times by new fields, new stones in a continuous thread from red ochre hands to the destroyer of worlds