The family motto suits me fine

or it just may mean the battle

is never over, that along the way

and through shrouded dusk

will come stomping feet

over heather and gorse, through thick blood

and soothing mud that clogs the lungs

and in which only the sweet faint smell

of whisky will revive;

Aut Pax Aut Bellam

is the mournful cry

of slashing swords and muted dying words

faint hearted upon the lips of former giants

as their world is disarmed by blunted weapons

of war and disinterest.

 

Aut Pax Aut Bellam,

or should that read Bedlam,

for in the world of miserable scribe,

the pen being allegedly mightier

than the sword, the scribe in a warrior race,

a legion who will fight to the death,

is but the wretch of insanity given,

he notes the actions in peace

and sheds a flood of acid tears

in war, making heroes of men,

of women he elevates to the likes

of Elizabeth Woodville and of himself

he seeks only sanctuary within the leaves

of pages in books and the fort

of trees

chopped down to make his bunker.

 

Aut Pax Aut Bellam,

Either Peace Or War;

there is neither in my world.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016