“The pity of war. The pity war distilled”
- Wilfred Owen

When the rising sun breaks
     The curves and slants
Of the Rockies’ eastern horizon,
     Gold and crimson rays cloak the
Western fields and mountains
     With a rich florescent mantle.

Birds greet the emergent light
    With their sweet and cheerful calls
Of greetings to the nascent day.
    A small gathering of does and fawns
Pause to graze for a spell
     beneath the luminescent sky.

Harmony, balance and peace
    Seem to rule the entire earth
But we know sadly better my friends.
    Distant cousins who would
Otherwise pass a pleasant meal
   Gun each other down
Like effigies in a sick carnival game.

How can we dare to hope?
    How can we ever dare to heal?
How can we muster the courage
    To burn our homicidal pride
On the altar of love and justice?”

Listen to the sounds of healing breezes
    Or hear a newborn infant’s cry.
We are all the same, my friends
    Beneath the gold and crimson sky
And Godparents and Godchildren
    Of all another on this azure globe
Drifting through infinity.