Ants

sitting alone by the water,
ants cover my feet,
moving slowly,
working quickly,
carrying the remains of fallen warriors

back home,
to show the queen,
the triumphs of her brood

comrades,
bound by duty,
seeking no fame,
there is no room for honor,
in the crowded subterranean halls,
where they find refuge

only obedience,
to a higher authority,
they stay the course,
fueled onward,
never ending,
by the thick nectar of,
esprit de corps

they gain momentum,
mandibles quivering,
dragging brothers,
all together,
only distracted by the cracks in the stone pathway,
which, like trenches on a barren battlefield,
hinder their retreat

and from above it seems so pointless,
the endless movement of waring regimes,
for their queens these ants keep marching,
for their queens they return with the spoils of war

fighting on for scarce resources,
fighting on the basis of colored carapaces,
fighting on for no clear reason,
for this is the way it has always been done

and from above i wonder,
what we must look like from above