Sunday, August 1, 2010

I Can Hear

I can hear the words of dead soldiers that will never come home.
I can feel the ache of mothers. I can see their trembling hands. I can feel the heart-thundering of fathers who gasp and kneel in the knowledge that they will not find their sons at their tables or in their garages or in the chairs out back. I feel the wracking pain that cracks the ribs of loved ones who waited and waited, only to be forced to wait until they enter a greater land, where flesh bows to a glory that alone can fully contain the soul.
They pour over me as I lay here on a cot in the setting desert sun. The tears are windows into arms and hearts grown cold, wrapped in the flag of a nation. A nation whose future is unparalleled if it remembers its soul.
I can feel their open arms seeking an embrace that must wait decades. They grieve immensely in lonely rooms where spouses weep in stillness. Children tremble with thousand-question tears, resolving to remember a flittering handful of memories when their father or their mother once held them.
It will cause anger at each play of the Star Spangled Banner. It will cause a hollow winnowing of innocence. It will cause these children to question, to struggle, to shake, and to pursue a reason why. If we are wise, we will hallow them. We will ensure that their sacrifice will not be forgotten, or minimized, or denigrated.
There is only room for love in these halls.
There is only room for warm embraces that last and last and last and last forever.
There is only room for tiny hands to wrap necks and tiny heads to nuzzle chins for the gentlest of kisses, where fathers lead their children fearlessly into a dawn of virtue, a dawn of security, a ferocious peace.
There is only room for emptiness to fall away, and for the glory of God and the glory of man to fuse in eternal glory.
O Warriors who have given everything for our freedom, there is room in that place, for you.

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