A Portrait of War

So in the midst of feeling sort of run-down I wrote this and got the coolest insight into a verse in Isaiah:

I will give you the treasures of darkness -Isaiah 45:3

If in my memory is a secret portrait of when war began,
of the tide of hate separating heaven from earth with its cruel hand
and red shadow that follows where life has yet to relent,
of ash covered vehicles, steel horses with glass fangs, upon which
sit the six faces of death that sing until what is blooming, what is green
can no longer withstand the icy foul of their hunger,
of bony, dog-faced men, old in matter, young in mind
too bound in fear to fight or die, aside their visions of majesty
which keep them satisfied in sewers of their own choosing,
of life not yet lived, snuffed out like a match between fingers,
life waiting to live but the time is stolen before it is realized that
all one needs is the courage to move, not another clue or answer,
if in my memory is a secret portrait of when war began,
it is lost in the rubble of what is, and this is what is, what I can give.
But there is One in the midst of fallen prophets that have brought down
with them temple walls surrounding their special gods, their special promises,
One who declares I will raise up her ruins again and who can
give water to a thirsty land, causing wise men to draw back.
There is One who sees the sinews which were made from dust
to form the hand which chooses light or dark in this war gone mad,
who says to the sea be dried up and her depths obey. And in this
hideous remaining where time ceases like a dead man’s last breath,
there is One who reveals the hidden wealth in darkness, in hell, who
calls forth light upon those who walk in shadows, who dwell in the night.