This Moment's Poem

From a place of Stillness ... I round these to you ... one by one ... This one is not from Gathering Stillness, but is from a recently begun sequence of poems voiced by Helen (yes, of Troy). So in this moment ... when donkeys are braying, mightily and oh so righteously, for war and the spilling of blood (and who would have thought donkeys would?), I add my voice, and my essence, against. This Moment's Poem is - 

Down, Into the Dawn

Over the hills and into the dawn, before us,

Together, all of us,

Not knowing the fate of our future.

The clouds are rinsed with yesterday’s blood,

And their fullness tells us,

All of us,

That they are receptive of the blood,

All of the blood, every spout of it,

Yet to pulse out today.

Rain is also held there,

On that far horizon,

But will it be enough to wash all of the blood,

All of it, we all ask ourselves and each other,

That will be shown to the sky, and the gods, today?

War is a bitter choice to make.

Down …

Down, into the valley, into the morning,

Together, all of us.

All of us. Shoulder by shoulder. Heat by heat.

Walking onto the plain not yet seeded

With bodies broken open to spill

What the flowers of these meadows

Seem so opened to receive.

The rain is now on the near horizon.

We all see clearly now, all of us,

That it will not be enough,

Not nearly enough,

To wash the bladders of blood,

Whale bladders of blood,

To be spewed over this place,

All over this place

Whose name none of us know.

War is a bitter choice to take.

We know,

We all know,

Now,

All of us,

Each and every one of us,

With certainty that makes no difference,

Any difference at all,

That the giving of pain, terror and sorrow

Never does wash away,

Never,

The pain, terror and sorrow given to us.

War is a bitter choice.

I am ready to give all of my beauty,

All of it,

To Serve the Mother

Of us all.

War is bitter.

All of it.

Bitter.

Bitter with all that bitterness knows.

Bitter with all that bitterness holds.

Bitter with all that bitterness gives of its bitterness.

War.

War is bitter.

Down, into the dawn, together,

All of us,

All of us who remain.

Knowing, all of us,

That not all of us

By that time dusk arrives

And the rain has washed what it could,

Will remain

To stand, to see, to know, to remember and to speak on.

We all know, all of us,

That it may be none of us who remain.

War is a bitter choice to share.