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| When War is Done Oh, my poor, poor, suffering son… What made you think your war was done? Not for you, no, not for a while. Not as long as you breathe – that’s not War’s style. No, he’s not finished with you yet; he lingers to revel as you fret. What your suffering eyes cannot see is his deep, abiding, demonic glee as you curse another dawn. Ah, no, my child; War has not gone. He watches as you pray for relief in vain avidly savors your exquisite pain. War chortles at your agonized cries, inhales the anguish of your sighs. And, as you draw your final breath, War devours the nectar of your death while you struggle free of that hell where your tormented spirit dwelled. Voracious, War snarls at your release when Death allows your suffering to cease; he hurries on his rapacious way in ravenous search of still living prey. Warm light illumines the cold, still air; it seems Someone did hear your prayer. The nascent glow begins to increase; is it possible you have at last found Peace? But...what if you don’t believe in God – that He created this contentious sod? Did you suffer all those years in vain, beset by visions of friend and foe slain? Is life just blind chance, a cosmic fluke; some sort of insensate, universal juke – the infinitesimal twitch of a Great Unknown that not even once noticed your groans? © 10/15/2008 Thurman P. Woodfork Revised 8/14/2010 |
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