Cycle

Blood stains the grasses from ages past
Soon washed away, it disappears into the earth
We forget
That our empires were built on this blood
Not only ours but theirs too
Is it for lands and riches?
Gold and silver?
Over whom they’ve chosen for a God,
Or because we are afraid of their God and would prefer they choose ours?
It is never for love or charity that the legions wage war.
And we celebrate our victories
And mourn our loved ones’ passings,
Never giving thought to those of our enemies who remain behind in grief.

It is the same grief,
The same grasses, earth, and blood ~
We just cannot see it.

We only see our castles and our church buildings
Raised higher and higher,
A statue of a hero made to look bigger than life,
We build fences and cast out those who have no blood seemingly invested with ours
Because what could they possibly know,
How could they possibly innovate, or teach us anything
Yet we are glad to steal from them;
To take their wealth, their furs and silks and oils and spices,
To taste their food, borrow their music and dance,
And oh how we want to make love to their pretty women, to move to their rhythms
And seek peace they way they do..

But we have failed.
We do not embrace, we appropriate,
Stripping them of their rights,
Sending them to barren places, causing unimaginable fear and harm

To a human soul
To a person who loves
To a man who would walk with you
A woman who would enfold you in her arms
To a small child with innocent purity...

We do this
We are guilty
We have always been guilty.

Kira Braun