I have found that poetry helps me in my spiritual journey. I think it does so because it keeps me and my heart OPEN when I struggle to shut down and hide my feelings. Thus, today's poem is a struggle I am having to be open and trusting God during another difficult time in my life. While some of you may call it "political," I chose to call the poem "spiritual" in the style of a lament psalm...
God bless all of you as we journey through the Christmas season and into the Epiphany and the New Year!
my daughter
is this
the last time
i will see you
as you are?
as i have known
you?
after christmas
you returned
setting your sights
on your mission
to that strange land
we’ve
bombarded
blasted and
tried to
colonize
my friend
told me of
russia’s war
there
and how
each morning
his aunt and other
mothers of moscow
would wait at
the train
station
to wail
together
knowing
somewhere among
those many caskets
was one of
their
sons
when my
daughter left
her mother
tearfully said as
we drove away
“we will never see
her again”
she will be
changed
her friends will
be injured
perhaps her
others will die
her brigade will
return in a year
but with fewer
soldiers
i cannot even think
about the
horror of
your dying
even the thought
sucks air
from my lungs
seizes
my guts
mazar-e sharif
she said
a northern city
in a country where
tribal allegiances
mean more
than
what we call
democracy
a place
we cannot understand
let alone
force to our
will
another shameful
war
for what?
for whom?
certainly not her
nor the bodies
of her comrades
Washington –
i am putting you
on notice
hear me
you’d better not
kill
my daughter
are you
listening?
i will do
more
than
wail
at a
train station
i
will bring
you
to your knees.
God bless all of you as we journey through the Christmas season and into the Epiphany and the New Year!
my daughter
is this
the last time
i will see you
as you are?
as i have known
you?
after christmas
you returned
setting your sights
on your mission
to that strange land
we’ve
bombarded
blasted and
tried to
colonize
my friend
told me of
russia’s war
there
and how
each morning
his aunt and other
mothers of moscow
would wait at
the train
station
to wail
together
knowing
somewhere among
those many caskets
was one of
their
sons
when my
daughter left
her mother
tearfully said as
we drove away
“we will never see
her again”
she will be
changed
her friends will
be injured
perhaps her
others will die
her brigade will
return in a year
but with fewer
soldiers
i cannot even think
about the
horror of
your dying
even the thought
sucks air
from my lungs
seizes
my guts
mazar-e sharif
she said
a northern city
in a country where
tribal allegiances
mean more
than
what we call
democracy
a place
we cannot understand
let alone
force to our
will
another shameful
war
for what?
for whom?
certainly not her
nor the bodies
of her comrades
Washington –
i am putting you
on notice
hear me
you’d better not
kill
my daughter
are you
listening?
i will do
more
than
wail
at a
train station
i
will bring
you
to your knees.
Thank-you David
ReplyDeleteBob Dylan wrote in his early twenties:
Masters Of War
Come you masters of war
You that build all the guns
You that build the death planes
You that build the big bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks
You that never done nothin'
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it's your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly
Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain
You fasten the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion
As young people's blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud
You've thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain't worth the blood
That runs in your veins
How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I'm young
You might say I'm unlearned
But there's one thing I know
Though I'm younger than you
Even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do
Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul
And I hope that you die
And your death'll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand o'er your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead
Copyright ©1963; renewed 1991 Special Rider Music
Thank-you Father David You put into prose many of the conflicting feelings I had as I watched Aaron leave on Christams day, maybe for the last time. I know that no matter what happens he will never be the same. I will keep your daughter in my daily prayers as I pray for the safe return of all those young men and women. I wonder if the politicains who are so quick to send our sons and daughters to war would act as quickly if it were there children inmstead of ours.
ReplyDelete