95. The Kestral, The Hawk (95)

When looking across the battleground, I see the Kestrel.
Crossing the lines, the trenches;
It glimmers and swoops, with an aerial view,
Of the battleground of mud, swamps and craters…
The trees barely exist, just stumps in the ground.
No-man’s land to the hustle and bustle the splashes and glug.
The Hawk lifts into the air and passes through smoke,
Of a mortar shell, the scattering of mud like rain in a storm,
These shadows moving disrupting the ground…
With lightening sounds and the earth shakes with a thud!
Mixed with the shouts and the screams of prey on prey
They disperse as the crackers near and far fuse in a wall of projectiles flay,
Shadows fall and sink beneath the pools of mud...
What is the difference, a kestrel, a Hawk? Who dominates?
The hunting ground, challenging the rights of either side,
To challenge the what? The rights to survive?
Or to own the territory with the rights to divide…
Cutting the air with a wing and a prayer
The acrobatic display of the healthiest fair,
Is it not the strong over the weak, the elite not the poor?
Flying away from the storms as they become stronger and stronger.
Is it cowardly, to fly away and see tomorrow? If tomorrow comes....
Their cosy nests, their pedestals, hierarchy, the food chain, privileges of power!
Do they fly over the troubled ground within its vital hour?
Determine the fates of those one can devour…
Are those that fly not the same? Only to encounter those at the top of the chain.
The aerodynamics should change, evolve emerge once more!
To kill or be killed, nature's way, to control…
At what price do we pay for imminent destruction, one day, a week, a year?
And there lies the irony, for peace to exist, we destroy what we seek to resist….
In the name of progress, only to be remembered by a stone, a flowers in a jar,
Forgotten, discarded, like sound of a cry in the wilderness....
What is the price for our mortality?