As the passages of the world slide and the times of day and night fade in the dark and still rooms of the soldier. A new breed of love and passion begins to takes its form.
when the thoughts of love ones back home and the memories of music all but fade and when their re-awakening only brings the mind and soul a aching again seeming summoned up form the depths of hell. The ones in the turrets forget their trouble and watch the sandy air blow passed them leaving the stain of the centuries of blood shed scattered across the ground on their uniform.
And the kings of old hold to their treasures tightly enough to distort them.
The lowly worker smile and dance with glee.
Kicking the pots off the fires and spilling their dinner to the wolves that wait like a loyal pet, whimpering at times.
For tonight is a celebration, one that tells the times of the world.
When in this land of confusion and hate a marriage can still take place.
Two people can still join their hearts as one and hold fast to the teachings and keepings of their god.
When the enemy becomes my friend and the proud show humility.
When the killers put down their tools of death and the priests stop their ratings of condemnation to the killers.
Rage rests in a dark and deep hole placed deep towards the foundations of the world.
one man rises his cup though filled only with little water and air he toasts like he were holding the finest whine in the world, wishing the new couple a happy life and graces as they raise their children.
So drink up my friends, and never forget this night.
For tomorrow the war re-awakens and the merchants of death continue on their relentless rampage.
But like always the nights are held dear and the moment of peace are all that we he to hold. With ether a pen and paper, or the letter and keyboard. The same prayers can be granted to the few in the world showing their true colors and the other forced to hide them for what the scope on this arid desert looks for.
Thank you, and may god bless all of the hearts of these pure and wise people. to the softening of their hearts and broadening of their minds. in as much the traditions of their fathers do not take hold and force them to continue their slaughter.
thank you once again sir/ma'am. but my time is short and my bed calls in the distance. rest well to night. For the cannon are silent in your skies.
 morti_cacciatore · Sat Dec 15, 2007 @ 09:48pm · 3 Comments |
