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
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