I wrote that my
Eight year old
Is no longer screaming,
That a loving hand
Watered the budded rose
Deep within him
And therefore me,
And thereby changed
EVERYTHING,

Now life is like walking
Across an ancient battlefield,
I know for sure
That armed struggle
And violence took place
Right where I walk,
But now the breeze
Carries only the sound
Of bird's songs

My feet swish through
Meadow grass,
No longer mud
From Flanders fields,
I like,
No in fact I love
Walking here now,
Will you perhaps
Come walk here too?

It seems I have been fighting
One way or another
My entire life,
For justice,
Recognition,
For a chance,
Success,
To right a wrong,
To be heard,
Sometimes I have simply
Been an agent of chaos,
At war with myself or
Maybe just from habit?
I really do not know,
But this thing I do now know,

I am done with fighting,
Done with begging
And proving and supplication,
Done with over egging
The situation,
Done with self recrimination
And recrimination of other people,
Done with fighting,
Done with guilt,
Finished with manoeuvring
And tactics and strategy,
Or whatever that label is,
Ÿou either love me
Or you don't,
You will want me,
Or you wont,

I no longer need to win,
I no longer need be right,
Heck I can cope
With being wrong -
Who knew?
I just need to know,
And from that moment onward,
In very truth from this one,
One way or another
You and I
Will have peace,
Because
The wars,
Are OVER,
We have reached
Our armistice