>> The progenitor, notionally, is a paragon of virtuosity_
In abstraction, we seek from them the moral criterion for an earthbound existence, institutionalised to the ninth degree in theological dogma turned political doctrine.
>> Self-spoken, their godhood provides sanctuary for the human condition.

_Yet, besetting the mortal coil with foul fare,
Imputing higher-order emotions onto fundamental entities–
Are our self-flagellant capacities misplaced???

For the being who turns a blind eye to two lone figures pummelling one another in the desert is one bound by ambivalence.>>
[Life leeched=a frivolous affair
when matters of the cosmic resonate more substantially
for one who, interstellar in stature,
reverberates in a higher sphere].

But if ignorance is something qualitatively anthropocentric,
And the duel of duals is matched in might,
The sweltering heat stripping them of weaponry
[The barbaric hallmark of a civilisation made in a supposedly benevolent image],
What more can the onlooker do when the faceless man,
besting his opponent with his fists–
Determined to outlast the odds–
Kills [The other],
Who, writhing, capitulates,
Befallen,
The toll of his soul exhumed on the conscience,
as it passes from this plane to the next: 
a remnant of it imbued within his breaker.

You see, It was a kill-or-be-killed prerogative,
Cloaked as biological imperative,
That bred contempt and remorse in equal measure.
Toed in footing, how one reconciles the edge of the eventual upper hand is indeterminable,
Meat for the self’s insipid mewling,
His visage a vestigial haunt of every misdeed done.

A man has died on this day; there is no good.
Even in a fair fight, there is no justice.
And yet, meanwhile, in the distance,
the exonerated father of the bomb,
responsible for the prior desolation,
the crater in which they find themselves,
looks on
with no inkling of guilt,
without a shadow of a doubt,
tenebrous and unfeeling,
far removed from the face of what he has done.

Blind to his victims,
He carries on.

What takes precedence in the aftermath of dominion run amok–
An ethical composite, weighted by transaction,
Some transitory calculation,
Permuted and distorted,
A goodness of fit to chaos,
Sheltered in shrapnel and scrap metal,
Discarded,
No, not for the self-aggrandised pariahs, culpable, to bask in,
But us, sorry few who remain,
en masse, salient to the minor,
Tormented,

Ebbing along.

Inebriated, a musician rends himself apart,
For a matter more trivial than annihilation,
Beguiled by the work that he can never quite realise to fruition,
That which sits in his mind,
A reminder of his incapability,
Perpetuating his denouement.
At the same time, the writer,
A comic book creator, sees what he has put into the world,
co-opted as militant propaganda,
and shameful,
realises his activity has brought the worst omission:
landmark passivity and complicity,
to regimes potent–
An act in and of itself–
Rendering his stewardship revoked and gone.

>> Born, the infant cries,
under the manifestation of such abject lives;
Naivety can never truly be nascent in projection.
Mythologized,
Should this duty be imparted to that which is its primary obligation to guide, yet its base function to judge?
That which is powered by collective belief yet stripped of the cumulative consciousness that predates ancestral lines.

The progenitor, in otherworldliness, becomes reviled.
Their quantified totality beseeches calamity and, pedestalized, provides justification, at once, for the planet’s doom.