Civil War

A civil war rages

on the battlefield of my soul,

where light and longing trade their blows,

and the air is thick with smoke.

Each side fights to pull apart,

to split and peel away 

the fleeting glimpses

of what keeps me whole–

the black, the white, the gray.

I feel for Arjuna,

frozen mid-battle, bow in hand,

torn between duty and dismay.

Loving both sides,

yet knowing he must choose.

What else can I do?

Some forces fight to keep me bound,

entangled in the trenches,

but I am not their willing soldier.

Am I brave enough to be

in this world,

yet not of it?

I am untrained,

unarmored,

and tired.

I know a mind at war is no place to call home.

And I think—

I think I’d like to go home.