Their country receives them back.
But they seldom come home.
Who they were is left in battle zones.
Like unburied dead wandering in haze of terrible tasks done in name of duty and freedom.
As others are made to suffer.
STEER YOUR WAY
In this time of addled and idiotic commentary on social/political burlesque, it is refreshing that there are poets to frame what is revealing itself to our imagination with eluctable possibility. We can struggle out of the increasing absurdity of contemporary personal and corporate culture, (which seem ineluctable).
"It’s outside the nature of both my personality and my faith to speak much about myself. I don’t think people are truly capable of knowing exactly who they are, and that, myself included, any attempt to define this “I” approaches arrogance. Our hearts and minds change from moment to moment, just as the clouds shift in the evening sky as the sun goes down. Who are we to think we have grasped the true nature of our souls? The Buddha-mind within us will not be constrained by the limits of language." —Abbess Fushimi, "Shedding Light"