– an indriso
It is a war fought on such a tiny scale,
Soldiers dance like angels on the heads of pins.
It is a war that must be won, without fail.
Machines the size of cells are like tanks, with skins
Armored, falling to smaller pawns – and the frail
Chains of life break at the weak links. It begins.
Tools. Plagues. Weapons. Humans built them all to scale.
So it ends: we are all damned for others’ sins.