Reckoning (Poetry)

After a long uneasy night
dawn finds the two opposing armies
ranged along the crests
of facing hills.

The armour of the will is dull
its weapons blunted by
the chill that runs like fever
down the line.

The dark was easier to bear
and locked its door against despair
and doubt — conjuring up
dreams of victory.

Now sharp in morning’s light
hope finds itself outnumbered —
ill-equipped and clutching
rusted blades.

The flag can’t find the wind
clouds are ranked for suffering
it seems like this should be
somebody else’s fight.

The spirit rallies what it can —
the cause is worthy and the war
was never of our making
for it wasn’t in the plan.