It is strange. I live one life, going about my daily business, and, separately, the poems come.

Peace

The hum of the machine gun dies
I can hear you’re breathing, and yet
It’s not what you put into life
But who you take out, don’t forget

You must move through each day with grace
And should keep to the narrow path
Learn to face up to all your foes
And then cope in the aftermath

If ever true love were to reign
Its triumph, so richly deserved
Is the smile of each bless’ed child
While a peace fire is preserved