The War

Why do so many of our men seek battle-thrill, spend their lives in the relentless pursuit of pain, delivered or received? Why do we choose to filter our vision from full-color to binary red, from embracing life to perceptual threat?

When there is peace, we imagine an enemy; when there is justice, we fabricate conspiracy; when there is grace, we say we are victims of hate in reverse; when there is love, we turn our backs and call it "womanly."

The only thing we seem able to feel is warfare, the adrenaline-fueled rush of violence against our bodies and against our neighbors to the north/south/east/west/right/left/up-or-down.

Is this how we want to live?

The Warrior

When the only power we know is rage and an AR-15, our future bleeds
the lives of our friends, our foes, our neighbors; we make them all our enemies.
Creating rivers of blood is one path to fame, I guess, if fame is what we seek,
but violence is not glory, not greatness, not brave; it's abandoning our humanity.

The Art

Art is what comes from wrestling with our angels and with our demons,
from finding the edges of ourselves and inviting what we discover to stay with us.
Creation is the survivor of the battle within, the victor of inner-tempest expression,
of knowing every corner of ourselves and never giving ourselves up.

Me

My warrior training taught me every shibboleth,
but every lecture I received was a waste of breath
because I've decided I won't be anyone's pawn
In a self-declared war that should never be won.
I never felt called to destroy, but to create.
My power, my beauty, is the strength to elevate
the all-quiet voices of peace, of joy, of love,
because in the end it's not about me, it's about us.