Chess

We live in a world that equates stasis with peace.
Living in hatred, it's easier to believe it'll all be ok when we package the pill this way.
Then we create more humans, more tiny game pieces to hold up as we fight tooth and nail for their right to life as an unorganized bundle of cells, but we do nothing once they get older but lock them in cells, nothing to improve the environment  we require them to live in.
Nurse them on ridicule and judgment.
Keep them guessing, never teach them the rules.
They're crib mates with with unattainable constructs so long their absence of self worth hardens into armor so that they become what we have made them.
Posthumously canonized saints swimming in the makeshift halos of our deception and anchored with their own brittle hope.

Life is transactional.
Breed them.
Birth them.
Arm them.
Jail them.
Kill them. Game.set.point.match.
Count each carefully as a statistic, form a coalition to fix it and then watch it line a politicians pockets.
Obituaries litter the ground like ATM receipts and were prophecied by birth certificates.

Everyone talks about the smell of death or the look of death.
The stomach emptying visual representation of just how depraved we can be.
But no one acknowledges the taste of it.
That almost 6th sense as the snell slides down the throat and down the back of the tongue, wedging itself in between the taste buds.
Then crawling back up with dripping claws to become a memory that will never wash off.

Who must eat this death? Who swallows the film real smello vision memories?
Not those who plant it.
Not those who harvest it.
It's the taste on the tongue sucking in the last breath to pay the debt of men it's never met.
With that breath comes the swift understanding that a conscience can be maligned by circumstances manipulated by people tap dancing in the dividing line between morality and mortality.

The sanctity of life is a myth printed on counterfiet bills.
The "devil" makes the deposit and "Jesus" signs the withdrawal slips.
I wonder what it would be like to measure the mountain of debt in cubits.
Complete control is expensive but there are plenty of souls to use for currency.

Gold Temple faith with department store effort.
Life is a chess game where everyone believes they are the master but no one will accept that they are one of the pieces.  And while the disconnect exists, religion will grip the pieces and demand we believe the hands belong to the omnipotent cloud man.