Tuesday, May 19, 2020

We are defeated.

We are defeated. From over the ocean the warplanes return like dragonflies flying over a fishpond. The stars above them hum and whisper in diamond light. The world is a whirlpool of churning thought. We are defeated, indeed, both sides are defeated. No one really wins a war. The graves of the innocent villagers are shallow and hard. The broken arm of the night will not mend, and the soldiers know this. Some of the soldiers sleep in sleek caskets. We should bury them together, two to a grave. One American, one Afghani. They could rest forever in each others arms.

(earlier version in Medusa's Kitchen)

No comments:

Post a Comment

The bell sounds, and then sounds again.

The bell sounds, and then sounds again. And through the tolling I hear a call for life, the call of the sacred. Then silence. I choose to...