Wednesday, July 23, 2014

The Golden Gem


Peace Talks.

What are they?
Why do they exist?
Why isn’t peace just part of regular talk?

It’s like we just polish that word onto something official to make it mean something, to give it spizazz. It reminds me of polish you might paint on a wooden fence to make it shine so all your neighbors become jealous.

I wish I had a glowing fence, they all disclose with their eyes, all sad and swollen. 
Just standing, staring. And then the wishes evolve into demands.
A demand for newness.
A plea for the latest and the best.

When did peace become such a rarity?
A golden gem among the gritty nature of mankind.
The thought sickens me.
And I am stifled by it.
Curbed by my disparity.
Plagued by my innocence.

But craving it more than ever.

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