Sightings of this hope are sporadically reported, like a species thought extinct, but flitting through awareness in scattered climes and times. I dig and hunt for the line between ends and means, so clear in narrower contexts such as business or war, but find it a blur where it really counts.
There is a love that needs no lover, just the space between.
From process where sacred stone grinds gently on sacred stone flow the sands of time.
When a divergence of experiences convenes bearing lightly their
codes of good and evil, with earnest will to find conciliation
they bind the many and the small, discovering the one and greatest nation
Do not regard that will as mere expedience, a grudgingly tolerated improvement
over bloodshed. It is not the means. It is not the end. It is both.
Not our guns, not our genes, nor the cleverness flickering upon our screens,
Not these tools of sect and tribe that collude for a world of asperity
But our sharing, our teamwork and trust are the true and mighty means
To carry our hopes quietly unending and unfolding to a grateful posterity