Not too long ago, a year and a million more
A boy with eyes like dying grass, crippled and yellow
Stepped off a steel rider, a carrier of redemption
The eyes of dying grass shrieked and writhed in the lights
And that year and million more ago, this boy
Told me that one never forgets the eyes of the dying
The swirls tattooed themselves into my skull
A bird flew into him, and he told me that it was all over
Something, anything, everything—all over
And the dying grass was soon green as those of a grave
Peace, he said, now it was all over
Peace, he proclaimed, now, now! Now that they agree.
Peace, tattooed on my skull, I beget peace
Oh joyful, joyous, peace! You great equalizer of equality
Oh peace, how I search for your lightening and your thunder.
A face, stretched in agony, collapsed in misery
But eyes, like dried flowers, a rustling look
She looked for me, as I looked for her
Sputtering last words with blood,
Never forgotten “I-love-you’s” and “keep-them-safe’s”
A droplet cleansed her sole from beneath
And her soul from above, a droplet, acid rain.
Over, she muttered, another emaciated soul in her arms
Something, anything, everything—all over
The folds of her lips etched themselves in my spine as I slept
My dreams, framed and edited
Are placed in the basket of night, perfect in form
My dreams, like commercials
Are high strung, perfectly strung, quickly strung
Tonight, I was a bird, a broken bird, a bird with a broken wing
You held my fragile body in hands, cradling my pain
My tiny body trembled at the strong touch
I’m so broken, the world is so broken
The baby, a baby, with eyes like crystal peonies, fresh with love
she taught the world, peace! Oh peace! Peace, your lightening
Peace ripple in her eyes, born with peace, like you and I
Everyday, another crack appears in my sky.
Everyday, I struggle a little bit harder to keep everything from falling down.
I read, an awful lot, quite actually—too much
People plant too many trees, carry too many protest signs
People buy too many guns, support too many causes
What happened to doing?
I, the wealthy, the blessed life full of eager intentions
the hypocrite, the one who runs back to the lover who loves her
Who am I to talk about peace?
The fans blades chopped up the light and warm air
Some passerby saw me scream “i-hate-you” to the people who love me
Is that the thunder of peace? The want of peace?
The want of peace as conflict? Peace—not serenity
But peace. Not the wind, but your own blowing
I shake hands, and hug, and mean it all, until its over
Something, anything, everything—all over
In a story I told you, there was sun-kissed skin of my Greek statues
I ran my fingers over, and I played, my secret buried below me
When the sky cried blood, you arose.
Tomorrow, I’ll be a bird, a whole, flying bird
You held my fragile body in your hands, cradling my beauty
I’ll flap away when I need no more bandages
not the tree that grows straight—but the one who grows together
The peace found me, when the conflict existed
But the sympathy surpassed, acceptance reigned, and harmony sang