Stones were flying, hitting hard
Bleeding deep, leaving scars
I tired of war, let down my guard
Opened blood-stained hands to embrace
With one step forward I knew
Death would be upon me soon
All that was left to do
Was turn and walk away
The Way Of War
September 23, 2014 by
I’ve pondered this poem for several days. While I’m not completely sure of the “authorial intent” (exactly what you meant or intend) of the verses, the poem speaks deeply to me. I know that stones come in many forms; I’ve received my share of blows from them and, confessedly, hurled my lot of them as well. As applied to me, I seek grace to open my own “blood-stained hands” to embrace those with stones in hand with my own name on them. This is really good stuff, Rebekah. Thank you.
My intent was much the same as yours. I’ve reached a point, though, where I’ve had to turn and walk away because no matter how much I want peace, the stones keep flying at me.