This War.
Put away all your weapons and war.
No more fighting, tears or sorrow.
When you walk through the streets,
there will be no need to cower or scurry.
You may stroll with head held straight,
darting not from worry.
The mothers tired of, children under feet,
will send them out once again,
to play in the streets.
The fathers, the ones who are home now,
will monitor their grounds.
No longer strangled with weeds and browned.
Few unattended homes will be found.
The elders will sit in the evening sun.
Watching their decedents lives pass.
Happy to once again see their grandchildren,
lounging on the grass,
and playing in the streets.
Running, not for reasons that war brings,
just running,
for the joy that freedom brings.
Thanks to Tara Schley for this poem.
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