A Time for Consciousness

Standing amid the swirling ashes of our own destruction, we deny the cinders of the charred bodies even as we try in vain to wipe them from our eyes. We deny the blood dripping from our hands while telling ourselves secret stories of how the dead count and do not count all at the same time. Behold the peacemaker who knows not the consciousness of peace.

Freedom is ringing with the sound of children gasping and crying, writhing and dying, burning from a powder they will never know the name of. We deny them the very sanctity of life itself even as we boldly declare their liberation from tyranny to the entire world. We hide behind our shield of noble ideals as we drive deep the point of our own sword of tyranny.
Behold the liberator who knows not the consciousness of liberation.

Death has called at the door of a mother. We expect her to accept, without question, the flag of our righteousness. We demand that she allow us to honor her sacrifice so that we may hold onto the illusion of our dignity.