The olive branch, the dove of peace.
Amongst men, extend the gesture
For it is not in glory, the limbs of men should perish.
Burning flesh, pungent. -a token of thy deed.
Rested in your arms, the rifle of destruction.
On your shoulder, the heavy burden of death
Flashbacks haunt thy soul, to remain.
There are no flags in heaven, banners, nor bravery cross.
For it is in the eye of God, you spit the blood of his creation.
Let bloodied hands, be washed in the well of shed tears.
Where the strata of life begins.
You! can knock on the door of peace.
Copyright © Kathleen Teresa Heath | Year Posted 2008