Work Text:
She says:
“I am Peace.”
As though she is not like those who came before her
As though she can be other than how she was shaped
The past a thing behind her
Overwritten to be ignored.
She lies
To herself of the nature of violence
As though there is none within her
And none flows from her
As though the tongue is not a weapon
More deadly than any blaster.
She puts infinite weight on the killing of people
And counts the killing of a people not at all
And pretends she is not like her people before her
And that she is peace.
He says:
“I am Peace.”
As though he is still like those who came before him
As though the life he has lived does not shape him
The present merely a passing moment
Insignificant beneath the weight of the past.
He lies
To himself of the nature of violence
As though there is none within him
And none flows from him
As though the war is a thing outside himself
Unable to touch his soul.
He tells himself his ends
Define him more than his means
And pretends he is no different from his people before him
And that he is peace.
And they cling to peace with bloody fingers,
Their nails torn from their beds, with their desperation
And determination
And warriors’ stubbornness
Holding them to their belief, unwavering.
But they have anger in their bones
And violence at their fingertips
And war burning in their hearts
(And they know it, deep down they know.)
They are mirrors
Like-sided magnets.
Their words are their greatest weapons
And they can agree on nothing;
They argue and fight
And this is how fighters love.
They orbit each other,
Drawn in and repulsed,
And they love each other
As day loves night,
As the moon loves the sun,
Eternally without limit.
But they love more their truths
And love more their people
And they will never break their vows.
She tells him
That he cannot fight a war for peace
That violence can never be justified
That he is what he does
And his soul is shaped by it,
That he cannot claim innocence
Because he is commanded by others,
That the blood he takes is no less red for good intentions
And that nothing can save him from its stains.
And he tells her
That inaction is not a neutral choice,
That lives lost are gone as irrevocably
When the means of taking them is indirect,
That the war is, and she cannot escape from it,
That she cannot hide beneath her glass domes,
Within her pale finery
That denying warfare will not keep the war from her
And in the end the blood will stain her with everyone else.
And they lie.
They lie and they lie and they lie,
And they try so desperately
To believe their own lies,
To deny their own selves.
They love peace
Truly with all their hearts,
But they were not made for it
And they were not made of it
And the world they live in is not a world at peace.
They cannot hide.
They are warriors down to their souls
And the world is not kind to them;
It has taken them
And twisted them,
And in their stubbornness they fight against it:
They are fighters and they do not bend,
But they cannot fight the world
And in the end it will break them for trying.