Songs of Power Paint It Black
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A great war leaves the country with three armies — an army of cripples, an army of mourners, and an army of thieves. ~German Proverb
Why do we kill people who are killing people to show that killing people is wrong? ~Holly Near
Your body is lowered into the ground, where you lie in darkness.
My warm tears mingle with December's cold rain... I lament.
War's grip holds me in depression, for this should be my grave.
"TAKE COVER!" you yelled, as your body and your blood fell over me.
My malaise of guilt: you died for me without a "thank you."
I'd give my life to find a doorway to you; my life is just a beautiful lie.
But my fear of death
keeps me from reaching for the door handle.
An alabaster portal that may not allow me in, a wretched sinner.
I have need of paint and brush, for it must be darker to open.
I weep for you, my brother, as my incarnate heart weeps for me.
But my fear of death
staunches my progress; I cower in my shame.
Damn my trembling hand, for the door is only darkened to gray.
My mind, an unassailable weapon against my will; it paints... It paints.
But my fear of death
haunts me; I fall to my knees in mental anguish.
Tears rain down as mortar shells, and flow into the ink of my pen.
I write these words for war mongers to read. "Death is a painful truth."
With labored breath, I brush a final stroke on the door to paint it black.
I am on my way, Captain, for I have found the courage to thank you.
My fear of death
was an illusion to mask the longing for my demise.
The only way I can be free from my fear of death is to let death claim me.
November 9, 2015
Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2015
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