We are the children of tradition
In an untraditional society
We are the children of progression
In an unprogressing society
We are the children of peace
In an unpeaceful society
Meshing together these inconsistencies
As human nature
And as differences irreconcilable
Like ripping stitches out of a deep wound
And those hurt from the stitches ripped not considered
Just the remaining wound sitting in the middle of two parts of skin
And we keep it that way
Say the wound can be covered with a band aid
Unhealing
Coveted
Yet a chosen problem to remain
Both skin one and the same
Wound hurting
Deep and unhealthy
Yet both sides claim they are healing from
The deep hurt at bay
Unseeing of the weeping sway
That stops and dries, for birthing in these conditions can only exhaust and fray
Ply out the mercy sowed into each and every cell
Yet we are still
All skin and clay
From one and the same

If only these wounds never came to be