That we behold our children in battle
and days dwindle to winter’s ice
is beyond a tale told of sorrow
burning in a neighbor’s hearth.
When the shield and armor forged
is lashed to yours; and bound helpless
you witness blood and bone
pressed and pierced to service survival –
what salvation will save innocence?
There comes a day that is the last.
What peace may come to a warrior’s heart
when, past reckoning, that day comes?
What wretched wakefulness will heal
those that remain armored in the night?
September 2014
WandeRoseD 