War divides. It cuts nations and people apart; it tears and rips like a terrible machine devouring families and churches and faces. War stings. It burns fissures through communities and cultures. It rumbles below in the deeps and swallows brothers and fathers and mothers. War separates friends. It severs loyalties; it bursts old wine skins. It dislocates limbs. War divides.
War unites. Where men refused to look in one anothers’ eyes; they unblinkly charge eachother to the death. War brings nations crashing against eachother like opposing tides: rushing, roaring together to mingle and mix. War brings brothers together; it puts them face to face, hand to hand. It makes them bleed for eachother. War is reunion. It reunites friends, families, and communities. Where life could not help, death provides the calm. The field is the table where all are one.