In Time Of War.
Dear God, we are tired.
In Time of War
Sons bury their fathers
in time of peace.
Fathers bury their sons
in time of war.*
I wonder what wars
we are fighting,
because too many fathers
have become pallbearers
for their sons.
Was a war waged against us
without our knowing?
Who declared it?
Where do our enemies lie?
Is it invisible?
Where is the battlefront?
Surely, we would stand a chance
if we knew our enemies’ faces.
But a war we cannot see—
that is another story.
This is not the Middle East.
And yet the toll of war reverberates
through our sweet isle.
We are tired of burying our young.
We are tired of burying our sons.
We are tired of singing funeral songs.
We are tired of printing t-shirts and jerseys.
We are tired of laying wreaths.
We are tired of losing our sons—
to vicious engines,
to the sea,
to the staccato of gunfire.
Either way, the music is the same:
a cacophony of pain.
Not another drowning.
Not another healthy son
who never made it home,
who didn’t wake at dawn.
Not another candlelight vigil.
Not another wake.
Not another happy hour cut short.
Not another freak accident.
Not another life struck down
in his prime.
The drums of war
are beating fiercely,
echoing through the land.
Do you not hear them?
How do we explain
so many funerals, so many wakes?
How do we explain the death
of so many firstborn sons?
We are the casualties of war.
We are the ones paying.
We are paying with our lives.
We are living through a war
we do not know.
Let whispers of wisdom
rise into thunderous wails.
Stop sacrificing our sons
on battlefields
they never chose.
Let sons bury their fathers.
Let mothers see their sons grow old.
Let fathers walk their daughters down the aisle.
Let the politicians resign.
Let the church say amen.
We wrestle not against flesh and blood.*
Fathers bury their sons
in time of war.
*Leo Tolstoy - War and Peace
*Ephesians 6:12
Thank you so much for journeying with me.
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This is brilliant. *makes notes*