May there be an end to both, and an end to war.
The consequences of any war so often reverberate down through generations, like an inherited disease – for the families of survivors as much as for families of the fallen.
I’m posting this to remember the fallen in war – the civilians, the ones who chose to fight, and the ones who didn’t choose, but fought anyway – and the ones who chose not to fight, and were slaughtered for that too.
The Parable of the Young Man and the Old
So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
And took the fire with him, and a knife.
And as they sojourned, both of them together,
Isaac the first-born spake, and said, My Father,
Behold the preparations, fire and iron,
But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?
Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps,
And builded parapets the trenches there,
And stretched forth the knife to slay his son.
When lo! an angel called him out of heaven,
Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
Neither do anything to him. Behold,
A ram, caught in a thicket by its horns;
Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.
But the old man would not so, but slew his son,
And half the seed of Europe, one by one.
– Wilfred Owen