A Raging Calm

Truce is but a timed peace Given to our weary souls Tottering guns, booming mines Away-away with all of them. When we tire to re-fire Into truce we oft retire. When friction, its poison work Our bones shrink, our minds fail Though this be no age’s handiwork When victory’s but an illusion Bought at so bloody a price Peace! Peace! Aloud we shout. Yet when calm comes An alien it is… It haunts the soul Like some sinister ghost Our truce... our peace they grow tense Ready to snap at the slightest touch.