If God could sing, She might sound like you
Musing on conflict can make me confused
But when the clouds refuse to scatter
Suddenly, through rigid matter
Sacred math flows through sound
When no one else could be around
And speechlessness begets a feeling
Where nothing else needs repealing
Pain turns to healing, and judges collapse
The Gnosis returns as if gift-wrapped
Beloved waves crash harder and are softly
Felt. Intention known without thinking aloud
But others invade and sometimes Defense
Overwhelms our shared, protective intent
The Pleroma has needs which are silently shared
Above what this world has convinced us is there
When the battle is won, and we're worn and contused
And trauma bonds have left us with loveless abuse
The health of the All will repay us in time
And the blood will be washed away with a rhyme
If we knew when the end of the war would be
Could we ever be convinced to join the infantry?
The same goes for us, when surrounded by peers
Who seem to feast on our most private fears
Forgiveness is less necessary than forgetting the crimes
And forgetfulness occurs when forgiveness overrides
Grudges which transcend time in itself
That even our enemies would rather not be felt
Unless the belligerence from which they could profit
Unbeknownst to them would prostitute them to nonsense
And knowing the ending in pattern alone
A pattern which intelligence itself could only know
Was held out against, and we refuse to go quietly
Then the remainder in love will be felt in sobriety.
-BU