( The Blind Conscience by Kimberley Kermode ) I walked the streets in blindness. I heard the shattering of war. I sensed the felled spirits of the warring. I saw a world going crazy with maddened and maddening madness, the quickening with the resonance of my tenable fate has begun. I am accountable, me… Guilty of the slaughter found in war, shamed by me, my contribution to murder, rape, hunger, thirst, weapons carved from the lie, my willful destruction of life. The knowable has never been more evident than now, too many to sustain, too many to recognize the sacred ground, too many hands have grown down into reflective screens without reflection… Too many hands grown down into reflective screens without reflection… Too many hands grown down into reflective screens without reflection… Too many hands grown down into reflective screens without reflection… Too many hands grown down, down deep, inside reflective screens without reflection… without reflection. Without reflect...
(The Weaver's Song)