Here is a poem from June 2004 (according to my note) about war as a function of human spirit, or rather, the defeat of human spirit.
Service
There is a mighty angel
Who always smiles at war
Who sees the quickening
Cycles of ashes and dust
And mounding rubbles of towns and bones
As fertile ground for his art.
He is loved among the people.
They have etched his name on their femurs
So every step calls him out
The roar of his name in their ears
The bright beam of his eyes shining
Casting all in black or white.
His children have busy hands.
Their dazzling machines
The envy of their enemies,
Would shock their mothers’ eyes;
With cunning and fervor they draw the line
That cuts the world.
All else is meat.
Life preys upon life
When this one grins.
And we, there is no we.
We are consumed by those we consume
Whose awe we have not praised.
1 response so far ↓
1 A Theory of Love // May 17, 2008 at 6:54 am
[...] Author’s note: At the end of The Ramayana, the heroic and magical monkey Hanuman opens his skin to show that Rama’s name is inscribed on every bone of his body. This image struck me as an incredible show of devotion. I’ve referred to it twice, here, and in a more negative context, in the poem “Service.” [...]
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