PEACE RANT

PEACE RANT

Peace.
Peace is unbidden, unborn and unseen,
Peace: our Great Incoherent.
Unvoiced and unstressed,
so shy, and undressed
the lie to the Great game “they” play.
Peace. No one wants Peace.
Peace has no shoes on the field.
Peace has no players at the table
Peace sits in blank minds
on back benches and chairs
and sighs…
 
Peace is a whisper you´ve heard so much it´s a low-level noise
Peace is the word “they” use when they have no balls
Peace is the sad cry of the weak
Peace is the end of discussion
Peace is the pathetic excuse for action
Peace is never really discussed, because
Peace requires labor

and arms
and legs in the Game
and feet to walk,
and placards to carry
and hands held together
blocking war
stopping traffic
and stopping politicians!
and stopping madmen from avoiding our faces…
demanding
Peace!
 
´cause Peace is people
yes Peace is
people…  looking in each other´s eyes
and Peace is
a new way to talk
and a new way to build
houses
and communities
and cities
and homes for aged
and the refugee
who is seen as you – and me
and greeted with flowers
´cause they too only want
Peace
 
and Peace
is a different way to love, ´cause
Peace is a different way of doing business, because
Peace is not business as usual, for
Peace is the end of business

and Peace is the alternative to the usual, and
Peace must be built with the same hands
and the same monies
and the same enthusiasm
we now build
Wars…
´cause if Peace don´t get built
what the Hell are these hands for?
 
Peace can no longer be
a bunch of shadows
around the corner
hands above the fires, rubbing vainly for warmth
while
War is the business we all toil for.
 
Peace has got to get in the Game…
Peace has got to get built…and assembled…and planned and carried out
But
 
War is the usual,
the way that it is,
the only alternative we´ve got,
War is “our nature” and
War is “our way” but
War is the smell of charcoal fried flesh in deserts
and War is those deaths in
in dark taxis
in tall buildings
in poor countries
in overrun farmlands
on ancient rivers
and magical seas
and War
is the angry that lives and always
breathes…
because
War is the way we´ve always done it…
 
and when the war is over
we have no
Peace 
because we have not built
a canopy
for Peace to rest under
We have turned away women and children who want
Peace
and sent them drowning and back to
War, where they came from,
running away
because they were seeking
Peace.
But War is what we are always
headed for…
 
Peace needs its own lumber and nails
it needs communities to build it
it needs everybody´s input
it needs craftsmen and draughtsmen
movers and shakers
women with shoulders
and women with brains
babies are needed
and teens with their joy
Peace is the edifice to humanity
 
(if we have any left)
 
and Peace is the name
we spend no time naming
Peace is the pinnacle of reality
we dare not articulate…
 
because Peace
is the word that bores us all now
the word that
makes us swallow
and shift our feet
and wring our hands
´cause “we all want Peace”
but no one builds it…
 
Peace is the way
 it´s the destination too
it´s the garden we cultivate
the flowers we grew
Peace is our last chance
the only one we have
because otherwise
Peace is the final quiet we´ll get
when
Our homes are destroyed
and our cities slashed
and out schools become
training grounds for War
and Death the god we worship
always feeding
the next War that
grants us our deaths until we find there
there in that box
our final and only
Peace
at last…

 

 

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