You Give It a Title
Load your guns and tanks with
flowers, hit your enemies heart
with peace. Let the dove sit the
muzzle, and the Olive branch
reach its potential. Cease the
wind that carries those cursed
words of war, heed the child
who lives and hopes for more.
Cultivate those fields that bled,
for the answer lies in love not
lead. Blood is blood wherever
spilt, are we doomed to live
in guilt. This a cry drowned by
sorrow, if not heard where is
tomorrow.
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