Even in the safety of the mountains…we can’t ignore that there are wars
but speaking as a amateur poet…war doesn’t not lend itself to poetry…
Poetry weaves words of love, grace and tenderness
meant to help people enjoy the life they lead
to elicit joy, affection and happiness
to paint beautiful peaceful pictures in our minds
War is an instrument of death…
and those who don’t perish carry the memories of war with them
and are forever changed.
War sews words of discord…seeds of sadness, grief and sorrow
meant to destroy not only peace…but life itself…
perhaps that’s why there is no poetry…there can be no rhymes in war.
If only we would answer the prayers of those on both sides of war
for aren’t their prayers the same?
Keep me safe
Keep my family safe
Please bring this suffering and killing to an end.
If only we could raise up the love that exists
in the midst…but somewhere beyond the reach of war…
The love that waits…quietly…with tears in her eyes
trying desperately to endure…to overcome the hate.
trying her best, like the people of war, to survive
So poetry, like love must stand by…
must fold her hands…must pray and wait….
until people come to their senses…until love returns
until there is peace…even tentative peace.
We wait until friends and family members begin to feel hope again
behind the tears they cry…
when from the rubble and debris of war…
we see the return of the flowers…of bees and the butterflies.
We wait and hope that someday…the lessons of war, by everyone, will be learned…
We wait until the smiles on the children…the children of war…return
We wait for signs that love though forever altered, can be reborn
for then and only then…
when the poems we pen are weaved with fresh words of peace and love…
will we find our rhymes again
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