Ambivalence, that overworked device
Springs and cogs, stressed and wrought, imprecise
Mounting pressure as grit clogs the gears
Choices grind against the thrall of massing fears.
Armies marching toward the eve of dread war,
Clashing on bloody field reap injuries sore.
Still specters rise among the dead, seek hallowed light:
A haunted mind, besieged, knowing not rest or flight.
Perhaps if this barren land were just a dream
I could rip out the thread that binds the seam,
Separate the scraps and find peace in between
A haven where none would dare to intervene.
Treaty implausible, so it seems, for contending ideals,
Fractured dreams. Yet if to one I grant the prize, the other appeals,
Oh, with fervent cries! Can I suppress this other wish, stand steadfast;
Please, might I deny, forget…accept that now the die is cast?