I will lay this slaughter down.
I will continue with you now more than ever.
Upon pillows that have become precious altars,
I will need a way,
and find you,
I will.
I will bear this star studded cross of many colors
above the fruited plains.
I will tell it on the mountains,
In the highrise,
echoing from stone and steel,
that there is nothing Holy about War.
I will not die,
for you have not.
I will Imagine,
not asking what my country will do about it.
I will have a dream,
in nights of sleepless vulnerability,
I will rise! and...
I will never let your candle die.
It is at that expense that my hatred is humbled,
in prayers,
at his feet,
where,
I Will Lay This Slaughter Down.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem