My duty is creating warriors and fighters,
Slashers, crushers, voracious biters.
I craft them for worlds of battle and war,
My sole task since the days of yore.
I look at each world and see their need,
Ready my tools, I design and breed.
Set them free for destruction or order,
I have noted: ‘tis not a clear border.
You should see the beauty I have created,
Planets of deserts where a hunger was sated,
Eternal oceans of burning blood,
Tides of bodies avalanching like mud.
Continents cracked, skies torn asunder,
Atmosphere escaping, only death, no thunder.
All so quiet, lifeless and clean,
The marvelous beauty that I have seen!
No, I have never asked for any reason,
It is not my place, nor is it the season.
Tell me of your world, small one, go ahead please,
Is it one I visited? Does it still have trees?
Hmm, I do not think it has been on my list.
No, I am certain, your world has not been kissed.
Your one still breathes, and all do not fight,
Most spend time eating or learning to write.
Not a part of my plan now, most likely not ever,
Unless… One day I might need a lever…