A poem #83 – Evolution

Think of the fauna
that cares not for our borders
nor for our local tongue.
This blood that’s been shed,
the things left unsaid –
all of man’s gains, undone.
What of the rights
to own both day and night –
are these spoils of war, really won?
Inheritance tax on our evolution,
we’re less comfortable in finding the solution
than we are in owning the gun.

JP Collins