The End Of War

The End Of War


Meet me at the end of the sky
where rifle parts fail,
where limbs flee, reprieved.
Where we plant thumbs,
crosses grow,
watered by tears.

Here,
we dance in smoking craters
to the thump of guns,
waving our shredded arms about,
begging that old age might find us.

….and a voice from oblivion cries out:
“You owe me!” and
“I would like to have one year
returned to me
for all the friends I’ve lost,
and thereby, live forever.”

Plato said:
“Only the dead have seen the end of war.”

These searchlights will show you where the dead have gone.
Their shadows will show you where their youth has gone.
Their youth will show you where the truth has gone.

by
Mike O'Connell
1/28/09