Irishsean

Written while remembering stories heard during counseling.



Hope

Yea, tho I walk thru the valley of death,
My eyes are squeezed shut,
Visions of the death of innocence,
Sear my memory with wretched truth.

I envy the dead, I wish for my death,
Blindness is the peace for which I seek.

Yea, tho I walk thru the valley of death,
My ears strain to hear,
To remember the laughter of innocence,
But all I hear are their voices whispering horror.

I envy the dead, I hope for my death,
Silence is the peace for which I yearn.

Yea, tho I walk thru the valley of death,
My mind roams over what I know,
Memories of truths hoped forgotten,
Imagination breathes death to my soul.

I envy the dead, I pray for my death,
Death is the balm for the pain I feel.

The cup is bitter, and my throat is scarred,
The voices and memories eat at my soul,
The dead know no pain or sorrow,
I envy them that,
Peace and death are the same,
And I want them.

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There are no absolute rules of conduct, either in peace or war. Everything depends on circumstances.
Leon Trotsky