Ruins

We are such creatures
of change and acceptance.

One day we are peace keepers,
the other
war lords.

We heal and yet,
we cut.

We help to feed
and then we starve
those who we chose
to name our kin.

Is there any use
fighting
to save
any
one
anymore?

You would not believe,
or even comprehend
how quickly our kind
can change given
a particular circumstance
that calls for chaos
even if one thought
they could never
cause any harm.

We will be
our own ruin,
there is no doubt of that,
I am sure.

*Inspired by reading Fyodor Dostoevsky's "Notes from Underground".