The pain and anguish of a young child, yet an eternal peace a world away; longform contemporary poetry…

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My thoughts here are not intended as political rhetoric nor provocation, but an appeal to the great sense and sensibilities of humankind…

In a world wrought with poverty, famine, disease, social unrest, military conflict, terrorist factions, crime and more, I often pause to reflect on how peace sustains in many parts of this vast world we live in, yet there are corners of the globe rife with intolerance and suffering.

Individual and public-sector corruption leaves behind the ruins of institutional instability and failure, foreign intervention, and military conflict. Bodies lay on the battlefields, a testament to the worst possible conclusion. The heart and soul of nations collapsed in a breathless corpse of humanity bled out on war-torn stages blackened by the stained tears of survivors and the dried blood of the dead. The soldier’s eyes are pitted with hate, fear, confusion and sorrow. Smoke rises from the ashes of levelled homes where charred brick and mortar are the sole remains, where a lone child sits amid rubble and terror, crying her little heart out for lost family, lost innocence, lost joy and happiness…a horrible darkness where once she saw light.

The years pass, and that little girl grows up in a world of constant flux, continued crime, prejudice, hate and despair. For all her peaceable upbringing, she sees through eyes darkened by shame and sadness for a human race that evokes violence to an end. She sees a threat in the face of those who confront her, an escalation of fighting and killing in the streets, desperation for survival, and, in the eyes of a little child, as long ago within her own, the same ravages as deep within the eye of that soldier in the heat of battle.

She lives a life in anxiety and depression, in the uncertainty and distrust of fellow human beings that surround her, engage her, and try to make her life livable in the face of adversity, in a life without a mother, a father, a sibling, a grandparent. She turns to a faith that holds together a bedraggled psyche, begging for a lifeline beneath the heavy burden of a fear-filled, bloody existence of her infancy.

There were moments in her life where she found rest and happiness, the comfort of nourishment, the fragrant scent of garden flora fluttering gently in a warm summer’s breeze. That breeze would sway daintily laced curtains dressing the kitchen windowsill. A spirited fire crackled in the fireplace, warm, peaceful, inviting. She had married a kindly, courteous and loving man whom she adored beyond the earth and all heavens. She thought of him now as music enchanted the brightness of her surroundings, a symphony, baroque, poignant, dramatic, calm. Still, her eyes moistened and tears burned as they slowly streaked down her gentle face. Worry replaced that calm as she thought of him, far and away in a distant world. He walked in harm’s way, this soldier of hers. He had enlisted several years ago, much to her ardent fear yet unspoken repose.

His letters were frequent and reassuring, though couched with an underlying layer of unspoken hesitation. His words and tone were dressed in pleasantries, generalities and always with the express wish and anticipation of coming home, to her, to the crackling fireplace, tending to the lilies and heather in the back garden, its backdrop a wooded wonderland where deer would roam, and eagles nested high. 

She would close her eyes to a different world where no hand was raised in the cry of battle, no flames destroying a family’s home, no frightened child sat prone amidst the ruins of war. She would be right back there, holding tight to a teddy bear bloodied by the spatter of wounds of her existence, her past, her present, her future. She would be crying without solace, save for a gentle hand upon her back, then surrounding her, lifting her up from the rubble. It was a soldier, gently whispering comforting words, tears welling in his eyes as though sharing in the pain and death that surrounded her.

Her eyes still closed, the fire still crackling, she would feel a warm, gentle hand once again on her back. Turning, she would see her man, a tired smile upon his loving face. He had come home as he had always promised. She could smell his cologne, feel the heat of his body, know the warmth and kindness within his heart. She would well up with emotion at his gentle kiss. But lo, she would speak, but he would stare with silence in his voice. His smile would wane, and his own eyes would fill with the tears of the soldier. He was at peace yet still a world away.

She would open her eyes, fearful of what she might see. The house was silent save the hiss and crackle of amber logs in the fireplace. She could not smell his cologne nor feel his warmth, his embrace, his gentle kiss. She had waited so long, years in fact. He had been gone such a very long time, it seemed. A look in the mirror spoke of decades, telling of the heartache, loneliness, and fear. She had aged so. And then the memory would swiftly bring her back…he was long gone, felled by the bullet of another’s gun, buried in a field where soldiers lay silent, a simple wooden cross of whitewash marking his silent place of rest.

Her tears would flow in the anguish yet comfort of his eternal peace. She would run out through the back porch, down creaking, bending steps in need of attention. Stooping swiftly, she would gather a handful of delicate flowers and hasten toward the woods. As so many times before, she would fall to the earth before a small white cross, a marker to her beloved’s existence, sobbing whispers of longing. The woods were silent. Eyes closed once again, all she could see were the shattered hopes and dreams of a little girl sitting bloodied amidst the ruins. She looked for him, waited…and he was always there.

Once again, she looked deep into a soldier’s eyes, tears pooling in their darkened, sorrowful depths. But there was always the smile, always the warm hand of assurance, always his whispers of better tomorrows. She would always hear his faint call from the porch of the house, beckoning. She rose from the earth and wiped away the tears of a seeming eternity, crimson leaves falling from her skirt, her bare feet cool on the rich soil beneath her stand. She would smile as though it were her sole possession, walking back to the house, gingerly rising each step and through an open door to her place of refuge. For now, peace rested gently upon her heart. She could hear him, feel him, a warm hand upon her back gently leading her to a better place…her soldier at rest, a seeming world away…

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Each morning, I awake and rise, gazing out past our windowsill to the marina. The boats rise and fall to a gentle tide. The sun cleanses the mind and spirit of humanity beneath its radiant wing; snow-covered mountains ridge the coastline across glistening waters. Gulls caw in a cadent chatter oblivious to my closeness. A longshoreman bustles to ready a trawler for its leaving, provisions laden upon its decks.

I close my eyes to a different vision…Somalia, Asia, Europe, the Middle East. The streets of Afghanistan, amoung so many other troubled cities and nations a seeming world away, are filled with the hope and confusion of corrupted humanity. Every vision brings back the scene of that little girl sitting bloodied amidst the ruins. Tears of a child tell of a thousand tales. The soldiers move forward, though some would fall. For that little girl and soldier, eternal peace would perhaps forever be a world away. Peace shall be our mission, everlasting, for the children of all days.

Suffer the little children…may they forever live and rest in peace.