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Only the dead have seen the end of the war. - George Santayana

Even when I sit at my window,
Watching birds peck the sunflower seeds,
Feeling blessed and a little sentimental,
Feathered wings, rejoicing over their luxury…

Even then, I know – somewhere, abides one,
Whose life is turned upside down.
They pray for the peace that surrounds me,
As I glance through the pane, to the gentle wrens,
Cardinals and chickadees, reflecting,
On the wonders of a feeder filled to capacity –
While worms still grow fat in the black earth,
Delicacies to be consumed once this feeder,
Has been devoured by hungry beaks,
Soft, flowing dreams – surrounding each plume,
Each form, a moment of peace, for me,
Their admirer, who scrutinizes each hovering wing.

Even when I stare at the television – its war,
Twisting through lives, 
Defying the hopes and prayers of mothers, children,
Those who reason with God,
Praying for their husband, their son, their father,
Praying he will please, just come home,
From a war that never helped anyone, a war
That is put on mute in most homes,
Where hearts hope to silence the despair,
The desperation that is there, in those eyes,
Where fighting is a fact, 
Never looking back – killing even the innocent,
With more than their words, with their guns,
Their battle keeps lives stunned.

I’m stunned, by the facts.
grief that comes through each image,
On a television screen,
Where nothing is as it seems.
Even when the tears are flowing, 
There is no way of knowing…
This pain that silences the soul, the joy,
Silences even the best moments,
In a stirring fear, steeped in despair.

Never let the peace that lingers beyond those images,
As you stare at your bird feeder,
Or smile at the spark of joy you see in a child,
Who knows just where his father will sleep,
A child who doesn’t feel the quiet defeat…
Of a death, who leaves him no choice but the sleep,
Always the hero to those who can’t believe…

Never let it anesthetize your soul.

War claimed something from them,
That will never be replaced,
Something far more beautiful than life,
Something that lives on the inside,
A heart who loves in spite of the guns,
A heart who believes in spite of the fears,
A heart who is alive inside the ones he leaves.

As the bird sings, in my world –
Grief stings, in another world, where only God
Can provide solace for their hearts, their souls,
lives, who’ve been wrecked by the angry vengeance,
of another war, another death, another soundless loss.
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