I do not want to be a tongue in the mouth of war

I do not want to speak its grammar of hammers, its sick syntax of power and profit.

But I will honor the war dead with prayer, song and flowers.

I’ll clean away the relic heaps of angelic weeping strewn across battlefields.

Rusted dreams will be unearthed. Pulsings of peace will be reshined into shimmer.

If we can feel our way toward that light, there may come a day we can embody that melody,

learn to speak tranquility in small measure until it is a natural part of our living diction.

This may be too much to ask,

but I ask it nonetheless with my tongue planted firmly in my own mouth.