When eyes are closed

I've seen the war, but it was less defined.
No line to cross between good and evil.
Deception left those hearing, tied.
I watched as the flames jetted up from the grass and quickly rolled down the hill catching all in its wake.
The dreary day seemed brighter, and for those unaware, the flames were perceived as the sun.
They saw the light and felt the warmth and assumed they felt that which fostered life.
A foolish mistake, unnoticed by the unnoticing.
It also happens on the pier in the dead of winter.
The icy water joined in its journey, a body does flail about within the depth of the unbearable dark, sullen waves.
Bodes sink below as others stand cheerily above, marveling at its beauty.
Only a layer stands between, a layer so thin but so definite that it seems to keep the light and dark in place.
Those walking on the fickle ice, no nothing of the bottomless mouth.
The lurking and plotting of their friend who holds their hand as they skate further out.
From that alone, can you call nature evil?
What is evil? I ask. What is evil?
Is Depravity defined and labeled as wickedness less malicious than treachery disguised as righteousness?
Does the costume change the voice of the act?
When evil is defined as such, it is much easier to rally against it, but history doesn't leave us such a title until the days have long passed.
In the present,  often, choices are split, and days are confusing, but those who live past us will see it all clearly.
The future is already brighter than I, and perception in retelling moves faster than my tongue.
I dream of the day when what I see is on the page, but I know, it will not be, nor I.