• author
    • Stacey Robinson

      Blogger
    • July 9, 2014 in Bloggers

    And I am a Lover of Peace

    War is not holy.
    It is made of blood
    and fed by fear,
    Ravenous and insatiable,
    It devours the world
    In pieces.

    It touches
    Everything,
    Ten thousand miles
    Or five hundred feet
    Or ten inches away.
    It sends out
    delicate, grasping, choking tendrils
    to curl and
    coil
    over the rubble
    of bombed-out buildings,
    and the razor sharp ruin
    of hearts and
    Lives.

    Blood is blood.
    It seeps
    red and
    turns brown
    and black
    as it dries
    in the dirt.
    Yours.
    Mine.
    Theirs.
    Blood is blood.

    And the thing about war–
    The madness
    of its twisted,
    tainted
    suffocating existence,
    Is that it changes
    everything
    it touches,
    And it touches
    everything,
    So that a lover of peace,
    who listens for God in the
    stillness,
    and finds God in small moments
    of holy devotion,
    And carries the music of God
    Out into the world–

    In war,
    A lover of peace,
    in a moment of quiet
    Stillness,
    Where once there was
    God
    to fill that holy space
    of grace and glory,
    And now there is only
    Silence,
    a lover of peace
    Will learn to say:
    Blood is blood,
    But better their blood than
    Ours.
    And I am a lover of
    Peace.

    As if that matters.

    War touches
    everything,
    And changes
    everything,
    And kills,
    And shatters,
    And destroys
    What it touches.
    And war is not holy
    And war makes blood flow.

    And blood is blood.
    That matters–
    Blood is blood,
    And I am a lover of
    Peace.



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