Imagine

Imagine you are a goddess in a field of war. You look into the haunted eyes of someone dying, a young man, a beautiful man, dark hair, dark eyes, red blood, vast pain. And his soul begins to sing to you his ache before his vision is eclipsed.

“They were so proud of me when I marched by in uniform. I wanted them to love me. And they did.”

His soul is already beyond pain now, puzzled in light, but his mind still carries on with his wishes for anything but the knowledge of burst flesh, with his longing to be allowed to stay for the beauty of a future.

“They were so proud of me for volunteering to die.”

Imagine you are a goddess walking a world where we adore each other for something other than sacrifice. Then you would surely sing .

You gently close his eclipsed eyes.

[Born in Germany, Beate Sigriddaughter lives in North Vancouver, British Columbia. Three times a Pushcart Prize nominee, she has published prose and poetry in many print and online magazines. Her most recent book, a collection of inspirations, Kuan Yin: Flowers For Change, came out in 2010.  She also awards the Glass Woman Prize to honor passionate women’s voices, the details of which can be found here.]

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