Glitch

If we were war,
we’d call it necessary.
We’d speak of strategy, flags,
lines drawn.
We’d praise discipline,
honour the dead,
forget the fire.

If we were famine,
we’d call it balance –
a long lesson,
a reckoning.
The hungry
must learn.

If we were cancer,
we’d marvel at our growth –
how we endure,
nothing stopping us.
A purpose:
to multiply,
to thrive in darkness.

But we are life.
We decorate the damage,
dress the wound as wisdom,
teach the error as method.

We mistake ourselves for meaning,
static for music,
the glitch divine.