My view of the world
           through rose tinted glasses.

I hope that we can pick up roses
      hand them to each other
rather than point weapons upon
                       brothers & sisters.
But a rose is a sour beauty
for even thorns can bleed
              deeper than a dull sword.

We must speak to each other find
             solace in others humanity.
For words can heal rifts that started
                 long before we were born.
But syllables latching on to the misgivings
                      of insecurities can wound.
Like papercuts on the mind,
        speaking to the shallow cradles swinging
        in a hateful wind of whispers flawed.

I wear glasses that I take of every now
          and then, I have a idealistically flawed
view seeing the potential of us.
But knowing we can fall harder
                                      than when can get up.