A poem for Peace.

In the minds of mad men

Echoes the darkness of wars,

And in that dark grows the

Media images of death and destruction.

 

And from the shade of our limitations,

we will scream into the void, peace and freedom, then close our eyes and pray, his,

is not the hand that stops the ticking clock.

 

When the bidding is done, the madness will stop, but only for a while, and we will try and release this Dove with a broken wing, and call it peace.

 

Words by, Broken Beacon.

Done