The War on Peace

Survivors sleep in the ruins

where a single flower grows,

petals falling in the storm

that turn the dust to blood.

A scattering of bones

among the frozen heroes,

their monuments speaking silence

as the carved stone crumbles.

An unforgiving peace

where the wild dogs wander

to the end of unending night.

The wounds are voiceless mouths.

When the music is heard

it must echo the sound

of fire raging in the heart,

of ice flowing through the soul.

Geoffrey Heptonstall

#@geoffreywrites

Categorised in: Article

This post was written by Geoffrey Heptonstall