In our time of never-ending war, punctured by the briefest lulls we now call peace, someone, someones more likely, will talk about whom will be the victor, to whom shall go the spoils. Bierce, that perpetual cynic, reminded us that peace was a period of cheating between two periods of fighting. But no one pauses to consider that in any war there are no true victors only the victims unwillingly offered up in sacrifice to delusion.
I am just wondering what you would say if you were called to testify about all that you had seen, all that had disgusted you, all that you condemned but did and said nothing while it occurred. What would you say if you had no choice but truth, no shading, no mincing of words, just the harsh light and you in a chair in an empty room, a disembodied voice asking endless questions? It is best that you remain silent, say nothing at all, for we have already judged you, and you know your own guilt.
He arrived today although none saw him coming. He had been here before, been quickly ignored, despite his pleas and prayers, they twisted his words to suit their venal desires, his message forever lost in translation. They were not ready, and in their hate fueled world, they might never be.
We are wholly innocent we are wracked with guilt. There is nothing we did, but what is there that we did not do, that we should have done, that we might have said so it would never have happened, or happened less, or happened despite everything we did?
We carry our innocence as a badge, we wear our guilt as an albatross around our neck, dragging us, slowing us, forcing us to acknowledge our guilt, plead our innocence.
In the streets of Ukraine the war, the destruction continues as we, the innocent, the guilty can only watch in horror.