The mind
Tantalised by terror’s
Rubber stamps
Every violence,
Every incident,
And brands
Every normal madness
As terrorism
Born to our physical place.

And to the runaway dream
We add our angers,
And we rage
To do something against
The foe
And created,
The anti image
Of our own
Disassociated face:
A glad enemy
For us to fight.

And so we go
Hot headed,
The blood
Of foes
To be let,
Our minds coalesced
In agreement’s
Blind conditioning
To go
And enthusiastic
To the next
Terrible war
Of mistakes.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015

Religion Of War


If religion were expunged
Our ripe blood hearts
And fanatical brains
Would conjure
The sword wet
Of feuding
Once more
And once again,
And we’d war
For sake of differing
And march
Beneath some other
Banner, flag
Or hot thought
In its desire
To strike out
And baptise
New recruits
In the endless
Cycle of violence.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice

An Unexpected Ease

In a war
Somewhere far away
And in the thoughts
Rained down upon the body

Something different arises,
Something fresh encroaches:
A broader, slower force
Seeps in like a summer breeze
To lift where there is heaviness,
To cool where there is heat,
To free where is entanglement.

A feeling like a mother’s hand
Gently cradling her baby’s head,
Watching benignly yet purposefully,

Administering kindness
To every need.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015