Peace is a harbinger for war

Is every man afflicted with Macbeth’s ambition?

Children count the days until they can reclaim the helms of their own dreams

“One day, perhaps we could transcend the seas.”

The older of them share songs of shores

That ensure that they are not lonely

But alone, which frightens their mothers.

They cannot text to see whether they got home safe.

Waiting for the wills of wives to win the day

Freedom adorns herself with red lipstick

It wouldn’t be long

Until their cherry pies were replaced with cherry bombs.

We forage for hope in foreign lands and wander without losing our way

We bear the bonds of brotherhood in chevron on our sleeves

Pulling folded photographs from our pockets

They fill us with enough love to entertain death’s damning communion

We were not warriors, but we won our battles.

You and I may bleed the same

But my blood has watered Flanders Fields.

If I am so lucky that the Angel of Death passes me over

And I return to Lake Placid a different man than the one who slept in my childhood bed

Do I weep for the ones whose tags are left scattered in strange lands

Who will never again hold close the subjects of their faded photographs

While my wife lay beside me,

Her dreams no longer stifled by the fears promised by man’s most dangerous game?

The moonlight pours through the window and paints her cheek a luminous gray

And I dare say

War is a harbinger for peace.