I will intoxicate My arrows with blood, and My sword will consume flesh . . .
This is my oath
as I raise my hand as high as it will go
in the finiteness of my existence –
I will let the blade of my sword go dull.
I probably won’t even have a sword.
My hands will be open to
the differences of others. Who am
I to judge outside of their shoes?
I will turn my cheek so many times
I’ll get dizzy. If they say they hate me
I’ll search deep to figure out why.
My arrows and sword – forget it
I’m turning them in. I’m melting them down.
I think there was something about plowshares.
Everything will be plowshares.
Everyone will live to see another day.
Everyone will be free to come and go.
I will sing this to anyone who will listen –
in the classroom, on the microphone
on the electronic network talking box.
Not vengeance, not blood, no servants,
just well paid people using their skills
the way they want. No enemies. No adversaries.
Just free dirt for anyone’s shoes.
Every mess turned to peace. One everything
with everyone’s name on it. This is my oath.
Can you see the tips of my fingers
in the sky?