Human nature: fault of our demise, ideas of peace we genocide; Premediated suicide, as are the thoughts of killing myself for The livelihood of someone younger living out their dreams
Peace isn’t cried out for, until the cries of war unhurriedly die out To love one another, is to have something we all hate together A hate so hot to hold onto, it could boil an egg in my hand While the bags of my eyes carry a lot- in their sagging clouds Before rain; tears in the eyes of man showing no mercy
Governments neglect you, hiring a river in the way of Drowning sailors; strict kings, ruling over a collapsing sea Men believing fortunes live with them, while moving their tents In a desert’s empty heart, scorpions join in to sting your naked feet Ruling the world; in the freshly turned soil- the Sweat of Humanity Still man themselves, are as divided as that soil meeting its erosion Mothers feet are wet, dripping prayers, crying for their lost sons Fathers hide in secret places, to mourn over their widowed daughters
What is the idea of what they call, “peace,” while guns are the Answer to their questions; as the devil quietly pulls the triggers Our blood shouts out, slicked across the streets- crying for peace But man takes it as an offence, uttered from a child’s lips.
Peace is irrelevant, rhetorical, paradoxical, But when it comes to the griefs of war, peace is inevitable.