The Embrace of Arms
I was naught but dust,
And by His will was molded arms,
These vestments of my joys and harms,
My writs upon Creation. Pray,
I’ve given by them more than stolen,
Soothed and healed more than I’ve broken,
So when my final prayers are spoken,
Find me worthy, take mine arms away,
What wisdom lifts, these burdens weigh.
For were these ever tools of man,
To throw our sunlight ‘cross the skies?
Those shining perriwinks of Light,
Which birthed a million stars again,
In Delve, in Curse, and in Anath?
Is righteousness such simple math,
And damnation a callous graph,
Of grace and evil? Love and sin?
And are we not our bogeymen?
Across these plantings cast Thine eyes,
For ‘neath the grass we laid I see,
A hundred thousand families,
Whole lines? Whole blood? We amortize,
These children lain by parents’ sides,
These heroes slain we lionized,
These friends whose murder justifies,
Our bloodshed. Or our bloodlust?
And could we ever spill enough?
For if our arms see to our peace,
Then shall our fields be watered red,
With all these drops our people bled,
Our anger come their altarpiece?
And on these graves their epitaph:
Here lay the faithful of Anath,
Hence cast aside like common chaff,
God bless us with our enemies!
Is all our vengeance as we please?
Oh, has it ever been our way,
To bless our pain with monuments,
Our anguish an inheritance,
We pass to those who bear our names,
And shall our children be undone,
Upon our altars to the gun,
Their songs of love and life unsung,
A sacrifice? Some debt repaid?
Shall all our unborn be our blade?
Oh God, I’ve begged You in my prayers,
You’ve burdened mine with surety,
And righteousness and purity,
To answer for our suff’ring heirs,
But what if answers never come?
What if all my faith is just some,
Vestige of my family? Some,
Product of the signs I wear?
What can I do? Am I so weak?
Though anger welled deep in my core,
It could not be for else to share,
The weight of hate was mine to bear,
Peace was theirs, my word foreswore,
For God hath bid us by our hands,
‘To Cultivate the Souls of Man,’
To sow our harvest, He commands,
But mine arms tire, my heart hurts.
Pray can’t You lift these arms from me?
For what eternal sleep must be,
But labors’ end, and answers come?
Rewards for what my work has done,
Should I not welcome eagerly?
My brethrens’ mis’ries on my soul,
Cut heavy, and though I extol,
To bear our pain with smiles, so,
I find mine own so meagerly.
Were all who wore the chain so frail?
And is it meant that I should fail?
To fall down to my knees and scream,
That if these arms are Yours then deem,
Me worthy of Your strength’s avail!
Please leave me not to break alone,
In constellations far from home,
Among these regiments of stones,
The toll of fools and arms we veiled.
Or is my weakness selfish sloth?
For have You not blessed me with love,
The same as lost beneath my feet?
And when I rise at last replete,
With grace, shall I not reflect of,
My brothers, sisters, cousins, friends?
The wines my uncle recommends?
Flirtatious steps while music mends,
My grief? Shall we yet dance above?
And is this what it is to preach?
To serve unshakably and reach,
For greatness? Shall I face this wraith,
Clad in the armor of my faith,
And see this evil finds no breach?
To raise a sword of Godly Word,
And wield it among those who heard,
The Horn of Heaven and were stirred,
To offer shoulders while I teach?
It cannot be my right to fall!
I’m too far blessed to justly crawl!
And by the price these fields have paid,
We can but toil all our days,
To face our en’mies as a wall!
And where I’m healed in love’s embrace,
Some shall not feel nor leave a trace,
And in their loneliness misplace,
Their days in misanthropic thrall.
And so I shall not beg release.
My works are Yours alone to cease,
Nor should I pray within these lines,
That we who lived to see such times,
Would find Creation come caprice,
Though evil born in man lies deep,
Our agonies, the friends we keep,
And for our faith, the price is steep,
Tonight, Your starlight brings me Peace.
Pray, let me sleep a little longer in Her arms…