Grey fog over a black city. Light funnels through a broken row of houses. Morning ablutions while my soft concerns are uttered to myself in darkness. An eddyless wind kisses the sad face of the water and whispers to the blades of grass and silhouetted trees, and the ferryboats crossing the harbor…
Dawn climbs over dark fields. Shadows recede over the sentinels guarding a world beyond ours. A thousand acres of headstones sit beyond the sagging gates. A hundred autumns have passed here. An upturned ear may catch and hear a gentle horn for the silent slain.
On the t.v. screen, one lone believer stands trying to convince everyone with an idea that his solution is the only solution. Input from brilliant men who’ve spent time on the battlefield is ignored because it destroys every lie he’s constructing. The demoralization of millions runs like cancer in every place across our great republic.
In Saturday’s evening statement, we are told that an unwavering commitment to justice, equality and freedom will prevail over a destructive ideology. Words. Just words…
In stoic silence I watch as he speaks about the grievances done to the Muslim world while ignoring that Christian communities holding up our Western ideals are being slaughtered by the thousands.
We are publicly demeaned for having our own thoughts. A one-dimensional thinker who cannot see past the mirror.
Having a plan is not the same thing as working a plan.
I mute the speaker but fill in the silence with my own words.
What happens to people, or teams, or armies or nations that revert to the same variety of tactics and strategies over and over again? This is not solely about reducing the numbers of radical Islamists in the world. It is about ridding the world entirely of a rapidly growing evil despite the changing circumstances and conditions in the world. This is what warrior leaders do. They cut off the head of the snake despite the seemingly insurmountable obstacles before them.
This is a not a short undertaking. To destroy radical Islam means a kind of battling that will continue far beyond the transitory power he and Clinton, and people like them, have been trying to hold onto. There is no further talking to be made. Every word spoken then is an insult to our dead.
Our world has changed much in the last seven years.
I unmute the button. His last words spoken are, “Thank you. God bless you, and may God bless the United States of America.”
I couldn’t agree more. I pray for this nation.
The glory of the republic must rise again.
Nevertheless, they are heard in the still houses:
who has not heard them?
They have a silence that speaks for them at night
and when the clock counts.
They say: We were young. We have died.
They say: We have done what we could
but until it is finished it is not done.
They say: We have given our lives but until it is finished
no one can know what our lives gave.
They say: Our deaths are not ours: they are yours,
they will mean what you make them.
They say: Whether our lives and our deaths were for
peace and a new hope or for nothing we cannot say,
it is you who must say this.
We leave you our deaths. Give them their meaning.
We were young, they say. We have died; remember us.
by Captain Archibald MacLeish