Too Many Guns, Not Enough Bullets

Too many guns and not enough bullets
Too many eyes and not enough tears
Too many words and not enough poets
Too many dangers and not enough fears

What of these bullets, and what of these words?
And what of MAN, the creator of both?
Lost in his cohorts his clans and his herds
All sheep of the nations to which they take oath

What of these sheep, and what of these nations?
They rise and they fall with the seasons
MAN, the lowliest of God’s creations
Count not, nor question HIS reasons

What of this God, and what of The Beast?
Two blades of concept converging
Burn in the righteousness of the deceased
Or drown with the crowds submerging

What of these crowds, and what of these blades?
A rhythmic concerto of tension
Music to their blood-wrought serenades
Their odes to unworldly dissention