These times worry me
Somewhere deep down a voice tells me
Be not afraid
And I know
It will all be well in the end
But
I am worried
Because I grew up in the in-between time
When all was not well
It was not the end, granted
But it lasted half my life
And ended thousands
The in-between time
Before all is well in the end
Is a time of chaos
A time of shouting
A time of battle lines being drawn
And I sense it now
Chaos
Shouting
Battle lines are being drawn
Or, not drawn but redrawn
The feint lines of battles past
Being drawn over and darkened
So they are becoming visible
Again
‘They’ are rising
‘They’ are subjugating
‘They’ are agianst ‘us’
‘They’ always were and always will be
‘Them’
The history of here is one of pauses
We pause the killing
For a while
And in the pause
The beast waits
Waits
And wonders
When? When will I strike again?
And then it strikes
I thought in April ’98
We found not a pause
But an end
An end at last
I allowed myself to dream, to hope
My first born child was born that month
A symbol, a totem
Of the new life this place would not enjoy
Now a man
My wean lives on
Strong and beautiful
The spirit of ’98 though
Wains, not strong
Still beautiful
If only for what we hoped it could be
But taxed and creaking
Under the weight
Of our failed pauses
Of our propensity to shout
Of our addiction to the battle
Of our history, I guess
And so, I am worried
I’d love to come to a more hopeful end
And I might in time
But not now
For now, I guard against the worry
I worry (for me in some way)
For my kids and theirs
Now that my life is more autumn that spring
Can it be broken?
This cycle of pause and fail
Can this place be at peace?
The big question
Can it ever be at peace?
I don’t know
A poem by 4 Corners Committee member, Jim Deeds – Gym For The Soul