There is the sound of wind chimes.That I can make.
With some discarded pipes, wire, and a piece of wood for the wind to catch. I can drill the holes with hand tools. I can tie the knots with my fingers. I can hang it from the precipice of some forgotten building, in some abandoned city. The noise a reminder to the dead that we morn their passing but do not miss them. That the void that they left is called balance.
The fairy tales of our grandchildren will be about dragons.
They crawled all over the face of the earth. Spewing smoke and choking away life. When they were gone we all learned to be machines again. Machines that make food for plants when we work hard. Machines that kill fascists. Mouths that spew life instead of death.
Life that will grow.
I will kill. To sustain. And I will grow. To sustain.
Life can be real again.
This is our real war. To take life back.
The songs we sing, are songs of freedom. The worship we give to God has no caveats. I pray to survive. Knowing that I have a purpose. What is holding us back now?
God grant me the serenity...
File under Virtue.
3 comments:
One grant me the willing hands, the willing heart, to be both killer and life giver because neither is bad.
@ J: He hears you, brother. Your purpose is understood and shall be well served.
@ G: You already know where I stand, General. You know EXACTLY where I stand.
...pray for us sinners...
Post a Comment