War
War
Blood is on the hands of men.
What justifies their dying?
They die for freedom, comfort, good
While women sit home crying.
Loneliness breeds bitter hate
To eat the strength within us.
God spares us now to live in faith
With rust-stained hands and jaundice.
Only time can heal the pain
Of war without and war within.
Respect the dark and then the light
To make the cure begin.
©Lynnette Schuepbach, 1967