Reconciliation

Through the dirt and grime of the
Powder and shot, canister and perforations,
The terrible screams in the tall grass,
The red-soaked rocks on the high ground,
I asked myself why men must commit arms
Against one another.

A gallant general walking in stride with his
Steed once told me it is for land and glory.
The priests and royal advisors claim God.
The common soldiers seek loot and plunder.
All have their justifications, yet rooted underneath
Is something dark, fiery, unknowable:
A universal cause of war.

It is a concept that at once slides from fingers
Like thin grains of sand. No matter how hard
I tried to clutch it, yet more spilled through.
For years I roamed from battlefield to battlefield,
Endlessly searching, among the piles of rifles,
The reused uniforms, the mass graves. Still,
It eluded me. What more could I hope to find?
I gave up, and that’s when I achieved a breakthrough.

It came upon me as I contemplated the burning
Wreckage of Trafalgar. Never before had I seen
Such terror in the men’s eyes. It haunted their faces,
Reflected across a terrible backdrop of red and black
Charring the sky. Waves lapped pitifully against the wretched
Hulks, the skeletal remains of the once great battleships.
It was there that I understood the meaning of fighting, of war:
That there is none, no greater purpose. It is all
A subjective ploy, pitting king against king like on an elaborate
Chessboard. The pawns have their role, as do the bishops,
The knights, the castles. War is written in the behavior
Of all men. So long as there are at least two men
In the world. There will be war.

As I hastily scribbled my revelation into a roll of parchment
In my quarters, I was at first overwhelmed with a horrid
Sense of loss, like something vital in my breast had shriveled
And died. Then, I listened to the rocking of the boats,
The groaning of the wood, the quiet of the water,
And I realized that this is no tragedy, but the way of all
Things in the world. There exists a balance,
Like the sun and moon, the night and day, war
And peace. Without the bleak landscapes of war,
The darkened industries of its production clouding
The sky, even the most harmonious peace would hold no weight.
Wallowing in our gluttonous self-consumption, we would fall.
But war, yes, war is the key, unlocking the gifts
Of a higher thing, so that once the drums of battle
Fall silent upon the bloodied leaves on the plains,
With brighter, hopeful eyes, this brave world, we will see.