Pain and futility marched with us
for lo, time out of mind
to cruel conflicts everywhere
for there are no other kind.
We have taken ground and lost it
built fortresses and realms,
commiserated and celebrated
with emotion that overwhelms.
Wounds heal superficially
scars run to the bone,
heart and soul are broken
and we dream of going home.
Who will save us from ourselves
before all of us are dead,
the ultimate fate of soldiers
and one we truly dread.
For who can say it’s noble
to slay for cause or king,
will victory save our souls
from the judgment death will bring?
Uncertain fear should stop us
but never will I know,
as mortal pride impels us
to strike another blow.
Approaching the ultimate arbiter
still carrying our sword,
there to surrender peacefully
and finally to the Lord.
by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved
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