War Poem by Lucas Jones

Two children were born in the desert somewhere. One is called Here and the other called There. And Here is okay. He’s pretty and kind. But There is a monster. He’s sick in his mind. Here has a dog and knows birds are for eating. There eats dogs, thinks birds are for keeping. So Here builds a city to protect his people. But the shadow is cast over There from the steeple that climbs from the church to protect Here from evil. And There says, ‘Listen, you’re blocking the sun.’ Here says, ‘You deserve it for all that you’ve done.’ So There throws a rope to topple the tower. And Here retaliates with extraordinary power. And Here rains down all the fire from hell and burns up the crop and dries up the well. There’s some confusion who’s defending themselves. And Here has some books about that on his shelf. But There has no pen and nobody to tell. If it reads black and white, then it’s usually red. And the living determine the truth of the dead. But There is also a feeling of being deceived. And Here’s an idea that you choose to believe in. Let me say that again— that you choose to believe in. Is soul determined by where it was born? Or the language it spoke? Or the skin that it’s worn? Or are we all just text in varying fonts— the same word imprinted with all the same wants. And safety and dreams of family trees and children and peace and honey and wheat. But Here has a promise it needs you to keep. Just kneel at his flag and he’ll give you the dream. Just promise you’ll fight whenever he needs, because There has to die for our living in peace. And it goes on like this for years and years. And Here says, ‘It’s okay, there’s nothing to fear.’ ‘Just do as I say’, ‘God’s guidance is clear.’ And when you get to heaven, I’ll be there… I mean here.