The War Room

It was evening when I walked into the old yellow room, with a sense of the war to end all wars. In the faint light of faded wall paper dreams were mounted the soldiers, black-n-white gold framed photographs of all those who went off to fight the world in the name of dreams, and who never returned. So many years gone by now; who are they, my brothers and sisters these from every generation reaching back upon back, down the bloodline-connection, spiraling into the dark eternity of places and people, family. All of us. And now we gather here, in this room filled, and flooding, with the dim yellow light of related souls mingling, and shinning, in and beyond the dark that is always just outside of us. The war still rages; it has not yet ended. (will it ever?) We fight on, for we must. We gather together and pray in the old yellow rooms deep within our flaming hearts of undefeated love. Here, in the room where love is created, we make war upon war.