NATO wants Afghan security handover by the end of 2014 The old man asked if air weighed more than gold, if truth held sway over deceit, the last time I knew who I was, recognized myself for me, not as a tool of greed, but who I am, my truth, my love, my hope, my laughter. I considered my obligations as a warrior, a father, a brother, a son and a man… judge, jury and executioner… Lift my spirit in laughter and love, bring me to my knees beneath heaven’s beam, I’m weighing my answers like a sniper, one eye upon the scope, the other, my motive. Man and mankind, far from home, carrying out plans, half duty, half flesh, standing bone-deep to my waist, the exactness of a worship I cannot recognize as good. In the bony sand, the original cradle embracing me, kissing my eyes with wet lips, my ears with truth, my body, with the throbbing of a most private flesh, a forlorn inhalation stains my finest hour. The old man extends his arms for me to enter, or shatter, the choice is mine.
(The Weaver's Song)