Heavenly Peace is the phrase of the day
And all nations seek this in their special way.
Some barter, some threaten, some wait for a sign…
That all will be good, promised by the Divine.
Some answer the calls of our leaders’ desires
To rise up and kill as soldiers for hire.
We tell ourselves that we’re on the right path
And those against us will fall to our wrath.
And on that dark day when we take a soul’s life
Through hammer-through trigger or breathless wet knife
We know that which many have learned the hard way
That what we hold dear is made up of red clay.
It falls to small pieces…blows from us like ash
We squeeze our hands tightly as memories pass
The life we hold true can end as a lie
As life drains before us. We’ll all one day die.
Across this bright planet for thousands of years
The people have perished in oceans of tears.
If only the Dead have seen War’s true end
Then when will some large olive branches extend?
War is the frail embarrassing tale
That so many quietly drown out with ale.
The ones who have seen and learned to survive
Now have the hard task of keeping alive…
A truth other men don’t know or unlearned…
A wondrous fact that once itself burned.
This verity lasts despite its mute bearers
Who back it all up with stories of terrors.
The truth is thus: Life is Precious and Small
This comes as no impactful surprise at all.
We hardly repeat it outside of a poem
Or to help end suffering far from our home.
The message pales white against snow of repeating
But bears our remembrance to stop it from fleeting.
This holiday season when looking around
Take heart at the sacrifice that makes up our ground.
Remember the blood spilled in name of whatever
Recall quiet soldiers who suffer forever
Recite that which we think we know too well all.
The truth is thus: Life is Precious and Small.
