Destruction

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Pointless destruction to whittle down the world into more manageable chunks,
There's more to a person than tissues, its cells and blood.
Unscoped oblivion to dismantle earth's bane, chunks of soil and organic flesh which pleasures Kain.
There's more to a person than greed and short-sight.
Anywhere's a good place to go, to fall short of your prime and keel over in death's tow.
There's more to a person than wrangle and splinters of conflict,
there's more to pain than shards of metal and belly-aching sick.
The caustic general and his minions of war, his battle plans're computed on a Microsoft platform.
You can destroy, you can move people like chess pieces but you're creating something to kick-back from,
from hilltops and creases, you'll create nodes of activity and uprising.
You can try to flatten all in your range, if your vision sees the horizon's brink but not the scenery of the terrain.
You can create rifts, for dead bodies to fall into, but the drifting souls of men will fray your fabric eventually;
your units will borrow your flesh for their own devices, they'll stint you like you do unto them,
they'll crimp you piece by piece, unfurling your heart then stretching it in vices.

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Destruction