You and me.
We don't see eye to eye and we disagree.
Or more than that - we fight,
Passive aggressively
Each taking her toys or his toys and going home.
Church implosions, political madness.
Killing fields.
Dissension in the ranks.
Isms upon isms.
It is personal and it is public
The conflict.
The damn unending conflict,
The kind that chews me up from the inside out.
Yet, one thing is certain. We all die.
And our dust will co-mingle better
Than we relate to each other
Now.
Our dust.
Will.
Co-mingle.
As though we've really been long lost friends
All along and never enemies.
We will look the same.
It will be difficult if not impossible
To distinguish between you and me.
No more divisions
Distinctions
Or hot headed opinions.
Here we are -
One and all
Dust in the palm of God's loving hands,
Ready to be molded into new creatures.
Maybe we will be more loving in the next round?
Laugh at our silliness
For all the wasted energy in pent up anger and hostility
When we could have worked harder
At loving each other
In the first round.
