Conflict

“...the mile ago it takes to stop the train…” (Ed Roberson) 

Tonight’s light 
(born from the flames of manufactured firestorms)  
forces the stars to resign their posts 

the blood of millennia still spills forth, its progeny lapping 
at the beaches of Troy  
at the riverbanks of ancient promises 
at the coastlines of dead seas and retaliatory instincts 

rough, cavernous tongues: tied  
(and thrashing) 
in barbed wire and the spoils of hollow dialectics 

The sun gazes down upon the squabbles, sighs, 
and recedes into the maudlin consolation 
of leaden clouds 

This discourse yields a power absolute-- 
too heavy for peace, too taut for grace.