At Silence & Uncertainty

as time depicts the portrait—the manner of the mischief—the slow pace of the day.  mothers and daughters make kindness, into a soul steeped in graces, to have furniture for essence, for rhythm, a country, like war.  to survive it, made glorious, each participating, and needing triumph.  many damaged.  many deceased.  many in bandages.  there will be pestilence, and wars, and earthquakes—be not concerned—these are not the last days—they are signs.  the tales were told.  the fury was rising.  many were compelled to act in the moment.  we see uncertainty.  to question priority—to debate the affectation—how many will end up in combat?  the world feels heavy.  many seek answers, something certain and concrete.  many more are close to the rage, hesitating to move, trying to function.  in needing to say something positive, the risk of the cliché appears, but something encouraging should be said … the memory of the strong, the days of peace, to come as to pass, and again, to gain composure.  we of prayer, urgency, faith?  what will the United States do?  has the war been decided?  will this remain isolated, or go global?  what are the terms and conditions?  the fate of the innocent, the falling persons, what makes it worthy of the loses?