Floodlit - NaPoWriMo Day #1 - a poem about caution in judgment and fighting senseless wars

Growing older is fraught with disappointment
as my convictions further solidify into certitudes.
Destructive impulses outweigh restorative ideas
in this strange era of hostilities.
There is much to gain but not all is righteous.

I hesitate. I retreat.
Caution is warranted in all things.

I wiped the brows of the weary
time and time again
so many eons ago
with faith beyond hope
that my sense of truth
was infallible.

I was fooled then.
I'd be a fool in this moment
to be so unbending in my belief—
to blindly and loyally stand firm.

Regardless of my questioning,
of my rumination and research,
my stance need not be stated unless it changes.
The world has heard me sing the song.
The more I sing it, the more I believe it—
the more I sense the cursedness
that rests beneath false claims.

Still, I dig.
Until my fingertips bleed, I dig.
I tape them up and dig some more.
I punch the ground, hands and mind sore.

I no longer trust my intuition.
I sign my name on the line
and pray that the elders know better.
I will fight in the lower ranks
and soldier on until I'm gone.

Few leave this life not buried in lies—
unharmed by ones once loved,
unbattered by the pen or the sword.
We won't be special—won't be spared.
We never were. Fate is too fair.

We may win. We may well lose.
Solace lies only in the tomb.
Wars fought, hatchets buried,
we'll sleep bathed in stained glass colors,
souls dancing—floodlit, rhythmic—
in an endless motion that forever outshines
the senseless notions of these tiny lives.

Photo by: Daniel van den Berg