#divinatrice
November mo(u)rning
We share a common guilt
the fate of the unscathed,
a hard-won bed of roses
exchanged for strife and raid.
Our soil is drenched in blood
some old, some new, some foreign,
We walk this earth untroubled
oblivious to the torrent.
At times we toss and turn,
and pass a silent sentence,
We read of bravery and war crimes,
of mourning wives and mothers.
And then: “it is inhumane”
yet - is war not human, too?
A human error, granted,
in steel and cobalt blue.
// A. Divinatrice
