The circle for today,
as marked on the calendar,
did not form,
like standing on the dry cracked earth
waiting for the rain
beneath an endless blue sky.
The hearts meant to be there
were at home and did not,
could not make the journey
because today hatred won
as it does most days.
Yet last night in my dreams
I was still getting ready,
preparing for battle,
honing my sword
for the oldest of foes.
When early in the mourning
I awoke still in darkness
and I wept.
Not from the loss
of the chance to battle
but the deep nagging grip in my gut
that what will be remembered,
what will make the final difference,
for all time,
will be all of those holy broken soldiers
who have taken, are taking, and will take
their final stance
on the sacred blood soaked battlefields,
past, present and future
and proudly removed their breastplates
in the faces of their charging overwhelming enemies,
would not draw their swords
and were killed for love.

© 10-22-03

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