Harmony

Wars waged without guns or bullets,
cannons fired as plots in the head,
towards villains who are mere silhouettes,
never seeing beneath their darkness.

Treaties tossed out as a political game
upon scrolls made of tissue paper,
because we only think of unity
long enough to find our ammunition,
putting up wanted dead or alive posters
in the post office,
where we mail our letters of noble thoughts
postage due and without an address.

Too arduous is the gaze to pierce a mask,
far too difficult to find the mortal underneath
when eyes only want to look at a demons.

Harmony is the balance, a precarious scale of acceptance,
which struggles to respect the human inside another
who has the same hunger and needs,
while acknowledging the individual outside
with that preponderance of heritage worn.

How the words fail and the hate boils over
if all that comes from the mouth is screams,
and the pride rules the spirit
so one can’t stop arguing long enough
to do other than clean weapons.

As long as strangers and foes are view as invaders
there can be no place where peace can thrive,
but how beautiful would be the world
should for once, we agreed that differences
are not a time bomb we can’t diffuse.