A Time for the SwordDalva Agne Lynch

To my brave and loving son,Sgt. Joseph Gabriel Lynch

US Ranger

Introduction

It says in the Tanach, in the Book of Ecclesiastes, chapter 5: "To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under the heaven:A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which was planted;A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace." A Time for the Sword was written a poem a day during the Iraq War. From the dawn when my son Joseph Gabriel Lynch, a soldier with the American Special Operation Forces, went to battle to the day of the fall of Bagdad, my entire world was reduced to waiting with my heart in pieces, watching the news on CNN.On the TV screen I saw other mothers also waiting for their sons. Women covered by long black veils, whose eyes mirrored the same terror as mine - whose tears and cries echoed mine. And I realized we, mothers, are a nation by itself. It doesn´t matter which side of the War our children defend - we defend our children. It doesn´t matter which side wins - we always lose. We lose our youth with every new wrinkle carved on our faces by the long waiting nights. We lose our hopes on a better life, for there is no better life when all we can see ahead is uncertainty. And we lose our sons in every wounded boy who falls, no matter the color, the race, the creed. For every boy who falls is my boy, and I am every mother who weeps. Yes, there is a time for every thing. But for us mothers, there's only the time of waiting. Be it in times of Peace, or in the Times for the Sword.

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Tears

Samuel David Agne Coto

Your sadness hurts and stabs at me

Your tears eat and beat on me

Your pain cuts and weakens me

Your sorrow chokes and drowns me.

 Your loneliness creeps

and surrounds meYour heartaches scream

and frighten meYour sad song summons

and enchants meBut it's your broken love

that affects me. 

I hear your cry, and every night

A little piece of me dies after every fight.

TO A WARRIOR

Warriorthe wind still blowswhile you sleep.Treacheroustime steals your dreamswhile you sleep.

In shining armoryou restbut the battle goes onwhile you sleep.The child within youascetic, woundedstill restsbut the battle of lifesteals your dreamswhile you sleep.

Warriorthe wind still blows.Arisetake up your swordfor the gods still fightwhile you sleep.

March 18, 2003

Let the petals fall from all flowersand let the birds stop their songs!Today beauty has no meaning.Let the children speak in whisperswith no laughter nor playand let the lovers lower their gazelest they show their glow.Today love has no meaning.Let the mother carrying a childdesperately hold on to the momentfor that may be all there isafter the birth pains.Todayblack birds took off to skiesuselessly blue.They've carried my sonto War.

Silence  

It was day when I criedbut no one heard.And if they heard

they turned their backsmocking me:

The fool cries!It was day when the birds

rested their wings- except the metal birds

carrying my sonto War.

And the petals of all flowersfell to the ground

- except the red rosesof bombs...

In desperationthe entire Earth cried

for it had come the timefor the Sword.

But men scorned.And in shameful silencethey turned their backs

to me.

Songs of War  

Searing the nightsounds the flightof a metal bird.

In its bellyit carriesmy son.

Through the empty darkness of this long night...

(to the friend who crossed the night on the phone with me when the Twin Towers fell)

Through the empty darkness of this long nightin sheer fright I held on just as before

to the very core of my own self.Friend - your voice pierced the night as a prayer

a cool layer of love on the hot fires of waitingminimizing the awesome void of the days ahead...

We don't choose our lot in lifeand all of this strifeis just more of the old game.No matter if you choose peaceor just a pieceof this World's piethe bombs keep on falling.I know a boy with great big blue eyeswho chose to die youngin the midst of the wreckage of bombs.He was in my armsfor such a short time... 

Do you really want to live forever?Forever is as longas the duration of this song.Someone has already chosen for youand it's totally meaninglesswanting to beforever young...And the boy with great big blue eyeswho didn't even have time to growmarch in search of a scarecrowwho thinks himself coolwhen he's nothing but another foolwho thinks he is someone.But he just grew old...And just tell mewhy didn't he stayforever young?

FOREVER YOUNG

Standing by my windowI watch the running of

Time.The wind blows on the

gardentearing away petalsripping off leaves

announcingfar awaythe storm

and it brings me the sound- dark

sinister -of wings

metal wingsWind

blowing on other gardens

of other housestearing away other

petalsripping off other leaves

announcingfar away

the storm…

BLACKHAWK

MANTRA

Infinite forcesThat move the Pendulum of the Wyrds

Bestow upon my handThe power to stand

Against the cursed sieveOf War!

To whom it may touch, and would like to pray with me: My son Joseph was kidnapped in Dallas, Texas, at five years of age by the Christian-Gnostic cult The Family. At eighteen I got him back; at twenty one, he joined the Rangers; at twenty two, he went to Afganistan, coming back whole; now, at twenty three, he left for Iraq. I'm proud of my boy, who went to War not by hate, but by idealism. Like me he thinks he can destroy the terrorism and prejudice which kept us apart for so long.  I use words - he uses weapons. Little by little we both die in ties of love greater than that of mother and son: we are brothers, friends, fellow fighters - and supporting cast in the great show of the battle between Light and Darkness.

GIFT

You came to meas a borrowed gift

for just a short time.I just didn't realize

how short was the timeand how great was the gift.

Then I lost youand my life was a search.

When I found youyou came to me

as a borrowed giftfor just a short time.

By then I knewhow short would be the timeand how great was the gift.

My son in bloodmy brother in faithmy friend in truth.

My beloved giftwhom I lend to the Battle

for just a short time.For now I know

how infinite is our giftand that there is no time

In Eternity.

Balloon

For youit's just a balloonpropelled by firebursting as a pyrein  a shower of light.But it is not so.For meand for others, you seethis balloon is our homeand we suffer the painof a world gone insane.We have to killor to die

MESHUGAS

One dayI met reality face to faceand it scorned me.I didn't know the answersfor the enigma of my birth.I was lost in dreadbut this wasn't even a subjectfor the entrance tests.Yesterday I had timeand didn't know it.Now that I knowit serves me for nothing.I wasted my time in bookssearching for a connection with the Infiniteand lost my connection with my friendand with my dog.I found myself as a square pegin the round hole of this worldbut this isn't originalneither in life nor in poetry.And it wasn't even good as a themefor this badly written poem.

JUST FOR TODAY

Just for todayI wish I could feel not like a sargeantor a cookor a housewifebut like a womanand a lover.Just for todayI wish I could see the Worldnot as a school-jailwith rights and wrongsunlovingness and unkindnessbut like a garden where love can growwithout hurtswithout pain.Just for todayI wish that the birds were all softand alive.And that the bird of deathblackundetectedwould not take my sonto drop himlike a discarded eggin the midst of Hell.

…

Don't tell me about your peace!The only conceivable peaceis Silencebodily present.

LIKE A BEACON IN THE STORM

 I put my candle by the window-ledge

as a silent pledgelike a beacon in the storm.

 With the sunset the

Shabbat cameand I lit with prayer my

flame like a beacon in the storm.

 He will come back from the

Warfollowing this light from

afarlike a beacon in the storm.

 And when he finishes his

questthis Light will be his rest

like a beacon in the storm...

It's a long way homeback from the battlewhen your armor's in shredsand you suffer sneer and insultsas the only resultsfrom the ones you've saved.That warm sweet caressyou longed for in distressnow serves you for nothingfor it was just a dream.

The comforting handthat now helps you to standis a stranger to you.You are tied in the girdsof sinister Wyrds...O my Belovedyou've conquered deathonly to findyour home is no more

IT´S A LONG WAY HOME...

There is a deserton the mountainbeyond the river.Empty, voidbeyond the riverin the deserton the mountainthe wind blows in sounds and colorson the high peaksin tricksof magic.

I walkin the deserton the mountainleaning heavily on my sworda broken swordlike me.

In my ragged armourI cross the riverto the soundsto the colorsentering the windin the deserton the mountain.In its soundsin its colorsis my home.

IN THE DESERT ON THE MOUNTAIN

BLACK ROSE

Purple LightHoly Covenant

I've crossed your petals one by one severedin scent and tears.

Fifty times minus oneyou've consumed me in

flames. Fifty times minus one

you've lacerated my body. I've lost all meaning

all human resemblance. I've lost all reason

all coherence.And when there was nothing

leftbut the very core

of me from your petals I was

reborn absurdly unharmed.

HUMAN

I see pieces of mefallen on the battlefields.And the one you condemn

it´s me!

Pieces of me are soldon every street corner.

And the one who pays for the nightit´s me!

Mine is the faltering structurecrowned in black eery flowers.

And he who crowns himself in goldit´s me!

Every miserable human pieceby fate tormentor or victimin cuffs or on the throne

yes, I tell youit´s me!

Not the other.

There is no maya for his woundnor aish for his hunger...

Ma'alesh, ualad! Ma'alesh!And in the black shroud of your veil

you rock the shattered bodyof your son.

Mater - mother (latin)Dolorosa - hurting (latin)maya - water (arabic) aish - bread (arabic) Ualad - boy (arabic)Ma'alesh - common arabic expression a bit like the iidish "oy vey", meaning "it's alright", or "it's in God's hands". It's used for any accident or calamity.

MATER DOLOROSA

Gentle Soul

Yes - the gentle soul

is an elusive bird.It doesn´t fly in

flocks.It sings alone

or it doesn´t sings at all

for it knows of the arrow.

The gentle soulfaces the winds

with the strength of the lonely.

The gentle soulrests amidst the

thorns.And it lays its eggs

so very gentlyon the highest

branchesof the Tree

of Life.

x a d o r

For so longwere my wings at restand my mouthfor so long in silence...But when you open the doorI cannot flyI forgot my voice.Nowmy wings are just a shroudand only my eyescan shout. Ma'alesh, ualad. Ma'alesh....

Weapons

A scarf is wrappedaround my sword.Unsheathed sword

against my will.

Weapons will be useful when it's safe

to leave them home.

Your raised speargoes before us.

A sure protectionfaithfulness.

Weapons will be useful when it's safe

to leave them home.

A shield of innocenceis all around us.A tenuous veilundiscerned.

Weapons will be usefulwhen made useless

by our Love.

UselessIs the power of faithIf it cannot changeThe hearts and mindsOf men.

Warlock

UselessIs the scepter of powerIf the hand that holds itIgnores the strengthOf mercy. Useless

Is the wise wordIf the mouth that utters itDiscourages and hurtsA little child.

With withered sunflowerswith no fields and no skies

Van Gogh illuminated the drabof everyday life.

We gaze upon realityinside his picture.

There are fields and skies and colorsin the fading sunflowers.

So it should bein our hurting World.Van Gogh also wept

as he paintedhis sunflowers....

RECONSTRUCTION