The Hunger

You ask, “Why does this not kill me?”    
I reply, “Consider nightfall;    
why does it suffer so a peaceful birth,  
day illume nothing into terminal crisis,  
Steel to it’s confederate ideal.”  
How wise were they whose stage lay them down into water,  
Into madness immortal    
Who saw what little of life they could  
Arranged here, in corners  
over rounds of epical war.