Thursday, October 6, 2011

vonn
in the garden of the valley of elah, they sent men to die; men on pilgrimages to the ends, men with martyr driven ideologies, with painted backs and faces. heroes. an eye for an eye, searched the devil in those ruins, to destroy them before they got too close to home. elah would burn in distress, overcome with the blood on its hands and attempt to repent on its own, but they sent more. more and more martyrs, means to an end. the validation for a war.



fast track to a time during, but a place before death- back to city streets and cobblestones in the name of history, not practice. they were curious. what does god look like? they asked, because you were supposed to be dead. and even though your legs didn’t work, you’d been to the valley and back, when they’d sent you to dig your own grave.



worlds seemed brighter, louder, angrier, more dangerous. elah changed you, and not for the stronger.



back in the garden, you’d spent days among your brothers, brought back in pieces. seas of caskets, waves and waves of becoming, painted fake gold as if it was some god given gift to die for the love of people who didn’t understand how the fire felt.



in the valley you saw the end of the world, but you came home, inhuman. wounds felt wider, revenge tasted different- like the hot syrup in your MREs, painful to drink but so very sweet.

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