A poem by Beverly Stock.
I come not to fight, but to end it.
We choose not to care or to mend it.
A greater loss would be one more day,
Both feeding our very hateful ways.
The damage done is such senseless loss,
Antipathy comes at a heavy cost,
Once brilliant treasure, our ménage, lost.
Is this division now our bequest,
To our heirs you bore at my request?
Have you no regard for their regret?
Flesh of our flesh will not soon forget!
So, onward you go, spirit robust,
And I persist, to assuage the blame.
Our lives in dust, we will remain.