The Battle Is An Inside Job
the bombs disintegrated
bodies all over: at the park,
houses, in traffic and this
piece of art a tv movie
what could be if the wrong
button was pushed
and the day after, I cried.
and a poem would stir inside.
I had a dream and
it was electric - for
I was shocked that
something so deadly
could be used as a
silencer of foes, a balancer
of disagreements
would I grow up?
could I grow up?
could it all fall out?
poison of battling
leaders could stall
the lives of millions
are the longtime battles
ought in favor of humanity?
are the masses in danger
o falling victim to misguided
insecurities, disguised heroics,
and endless distractions?
I heard a voice sounds
like the wind and it said,
the battle is an inside job
again and again and again....
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