The Battle Is An Inside Job

the bombs disintegrated bodies all over: at the park, houses, in traffic and this piece of art a tv movie what could be if the wrong button was pushed and the day after, I cried. and a poem would stir inside. I had a dream and it was electric - for I was shocked that something so deadly could be used as a silencer of foes, a balancer of disagreements would I grow up? could I grow up? could it all fall out? poison of battling leaders could stall the lives of millions are the longtime battles ought in favor of humanity? are the masses in danger o falling victim to misguided insecurities, disguised heroics, and endless distractions? I heard a voice sounds like the wind and it said, the battle is an inside job again and again and again....