They all believed
Except each peace was small enough
Too fit in the war machine
hope draining through their tiny wholes
Of a grater good
As awe weighs sum won ails
Pain the accost
Wanting peace is popular to the point of madder of coarse. Will we ever see peace in our life time? Peace requires generous eyes portions, even beyond belief. Our pocketbook-sized dreams and nation-sized military budgets makes war inevitable and leaves peace on the lamb. To normal eyes bloodshed is bound up in an anemic faith. Rather our own. Not of others. Lock, stock and barrel is an idol shrunken ahead, the stingiest spectacle of civilization. With a lock on just US, stock propaganda, and democracy buy the barrel of a gun, we will bloody sea awe worthwhile slip through finger after finger after finger. Such tiny wholes cannot bear the strain of won peace. Is there ever enough daze on such a colander? How can we de-sieve ourselves in such weighs? The won in question might swallow a peace sow who among US? Who might dare cull out the cogs in the war machine? In our grief, we can only cry out, crap, there is no where else to go, as one side fits awe. How due we face a peace too big to pass. And there is no time to waste. Wee are either all for one, or all for number two. May we all rise above our tiny, foxy holes and take a vault of faith into a whole worthy of our humanity.
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