Our War Is from Within
These generations growing up live in a war zone.
A war like none before.
There are no drafts, no rations, no military burials.
The war is in our homes, our schools, our churches,
temples, movie theaters, synagogues, shopping malls.
On our streets.
The drills, the role-play, the weaponry,
These are recognizable.
The war is not fought against unknown invaders or foreigners
The war is here, it is us.
We can’t see our enemy, or hear our enemy.
Because they look like us. They sound like us.
We have grown our enemy. Home-grown.
To destroy it is to cut off an arm, or leg,
because it is a part of who we’ve become.
That is what makes it the most elusive, most resilient of enemies.
Who is willing to cut off their own hand, the hand that feeds them, to defeat the enemy?
Who will be the first to sacrifice what they have won, so that another can survive?
Those are the tests that spark the battles. And the battles become the war.
Except, the fallout.
Young men die. Their mothers mourn, why?
Children fear the dark, to be alone,
to be among the crowd.
Parents anxious to see their own line up to wait, to watch.
The reunion is a pause in anxiety, until it begins again.
Separation and joinder.
Comradery and suspicion.
It is a war zone.
A war like none before.
We are not them.
Yes, we are them.
Featured photo by Christopher Bowns via flickr, CC BY-SA 2.0
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