"At this time..."
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MrsPotts · 09-24-2001, 03:33 PM

The girl who works with me wrote this for her Master's creative writing class.... I was very touched by it, and thought I'd share it with my friends.

At This Time by Jennifer W.

It is nothing like love.
Its fear is like darkness to a child in its terrifying simplicity,
bringing a change as pronounced as that of a boy who sits waiting on the cusp of
manhood and
it is as red as a smoldering Christmas hearth.
It is as violated as a woman scorned by rape,
its state as devastating as a parent's loss of child and
as dire as air to the drowning swimmer groping helplessly,
as cold as a winter avalanche rushing down onto a friendly village and
as calculating as a madman constructing a bomb,
evoking the call for vengeance and the substantiated, yet rarely used, need for violence,
structured in the name of hate,
stirred by anger.
Its condition is appalling and it is awful and it is nothing like fresh lilacs in the spring.
As threatening as the barrel of a car jacker's gun and as dreadful as the shot he fires into
innocence.
It's as contaminated as the rivers where waste floats freely, dumped by its own hands,
as grievous as today's youth riddled with violence and metal detectors in the hallways of
their schools.
Its tears run freely with the overwhelming sadness of a parent's death.
It is as gentle as a lion's roar
and as exhausted as a man lost in a desert for days without drink.
It is tragic and grief stricken and
its beauty is marred like a single drop of blood on a blanket
of freshly fallen snow.
Its pain as raw as the pain of those in Medieval battles:
with swords, with spears, with sorrow.
The condition of it is as horrible as the truth of despicable abusers,
as shocking as its school shootings and its Midwestern bombings.
Its state is as agonizing as the pain that rips through a scorned lover's heart,
as real as knowing the sun will rise each morning,
as excruciating as the truth that lies beneath every heinous crime,
as tormenting as the angst of being unable to reach a loved one in their time of need and despair.
It is as anxious as it dares to be, lending its concern and worry to those who need it most,
who strive to alleviate at least part of the pain.
Its agitation is as crisp as the first time it encountered cowardice, like the child afraid of
the bully but scared to fight back with the timidity it feels yet
its fury overpowers its fear and its keen desire for resolve prevails in the name of itself
and its country.
It's in a mad state, infuriated and sobbing,
with the rage that it felt when the Japanese bombed,
and the heartache it suffered upon losing so many
in the wars of the world.
It vows wrath; it vows vengeance; it vows a world-sense of peace.
Its terror is real,
as real as its vulnerability became in response to the ideal of safety that its
liberty once granted.
Its disgust is as genuine as its fears.
It is maddened, its efforts exasperated
but with the dignity of its rights.
Its power is not humble.
It will not be subdued.
That is its prerogative.
It holds its independence as high as its tallest towers
and basks in the warmth of its freedom,
Emancipating itself from danger with its privilege like the graceful eagle soars.
Liberating itself with fierce pride to overcome or
attempt to overcome.
It is blessed with patriotic freedom
as a priest would bless a child.
It has faith so it can see
the awful images and taste the salty tears,
and rile itself with tales of woe.
Its unity is like blood between brothers.
It is Red.
It is White.
It is Blue.
It knows no boundaries, has no discriminations,
but it has stars,
and it has stripes.
And it knows Freedom.

It is America’s heart.

Kruggie -- Look for my column tomorrow!
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