Tiny Soldier

Oh tiny soldier, with your stubbornness and grit, this is not a giving up, it's just the time to quit.  You're battle worn body, wracked with scars and pain, there's nothing more for you to give and everything to gain.  Your weapons can be laid down, right here in this place.  Let us wash those blood soaked tears, from your tiny face.  Arms now wait for you, to wash the guilt and grime of war.  The fields have all grown over, the pain will be no more.  Your bravery that went unseen, now shines here in this place.  The days ahead wait for you, filled with love and grace.
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Something I wrote tonight.  The tiny soldier that fought for sanity in a f*cked up world.
It wasn't right.  It wasn't fair and it wasn't her fault. ( I know at least two people who will be glad I said that)
I am suppose to say, it wasn't *my* fault.  Right now, I can say that I am trying.  Actually, I am suppose to not say again, that it *is* my fault.
The blame is on me for destroying the relationship with my mother.  WHOA!! Back up.  How is that statement in any way honoring the tiny soldier?   It isn't.  It is setting blame where none should be.  That little soldier may need to answer for a couple of things now.  She did some pretty rotten things.  The thing is though, that the *answering*, correction and or punishment, isn't about the deed so much as it is about the guilt.  I guess I kind of see it as stripping her of those old filthy clothes of war and placing her in a warm bath.  Gently cleansing what is under those torn blood stained pieces of armor.  Soothing her whole body in the warmth of that water.  As the cleansing water pours over her, letting her hear those words of love, hear that she is loved, she is good, she is free, she is whole, she is wanted, she is brave, she doesn't have to fight anymore, the war is over.