Peace

This poem is a white dove.
This poem is a peace flag.
This poem is an olive branch.

Oh, but this poem is not dreaming
of breaking bread with the enemy.
of keeping the gates open at night.
of drinking around a campfire,
singing in two languages (or three).
This poem does not believe in miracles.

This poem sets the bar low.
It asks that we put down arms.
That we put away uniforms.
That we still frown but smile sometimes.
That if we cross each other’s path,
we nod, give way, maybe even
shake hands one day.

This poem is a flag tied to the olive tree.
This poem is a dove perched on an olive branch.
A single strike can incinerate all three.
This poem burns
and becomes white ash.
Under the blazing April sky
it looks incongruous.
Like snow that
no longer
has the strength
to melt.

(Credit: MS AI Image generator)

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#Napowrimo #Glopowrimo
#WriteRight
#April2024 3/30

Also linked to Mary’s prompt at What’s going on: Miracle