The world's a battlefield,
Or the battlefield has become the world,
Men brawling under the influence of an obscure boss,
Oblivious of the priceless loss.
Ego is that boss,
The consequences of which can be too gross.
Wars are bad,
The motive is sad,
But still they do happen,
Only to leave several worlds shaken.
None of the parties back down,
All with a frown.
So well armed,
No sight of any fear of harm.
Ego is not worth fighting for,
That is for sure.
Is it not useless, I would say, on the contrary,
To fight for something so temporary?
Lives are torn apart, amigo!
Just because of this little seeming word:
I was going through a few old manuscripts when I found this. I had written the original on July 8, 2015.