Blood

Maybe it was untainted
Far back before the birth of history.
But I don’t know that.
I do know as far as it goes
My bloodline is tainted with cruelty
And other’s pain.
Maybe it isn’t my responsibility
Some might say.
But I don’t know that.
I do know my history
Which tells of bloodshed
War and greed
Denial of humanity
For what?
I don’t know that.
It is inconceivable to my mind
Which cannot compute it
And my heart
Which recoils from it.
It shouldn’t matter
It should mean nothing
Why?
My ancestors are silent
As willingly deaf in death as they were in life.
But I have ears
For not only the past
But the cries of the present
And the echoes from the future.
I vow to heed them
In whatever way I can
And if I have a child
They will know to see, hear, speak, and act.
The earth was made to soak up the life-giving rain,
Not the blood of a fellow traveler through this world.

Author's Note

Am I perhaps a little presumptuous for writing this? Am I too heavy handed with the guilt? I feel like this needs some polishing.