Peace... is complicated. It's an intrinsic war between nature and nurture that claims the minds of the greatest of men. Maybe not the best, but they rarely become great. You see, a heart has a balance, between love and defense, and like a tree that is felled slowly over time, it matters how many strikes are made on what side. Doling out the punishment and rewards, life has little time to decide whom is left standing after the axes fall. And so it is, that we must always choose for ourselves which way we sway. And even as our trunk grows thin under the bite of metal, balance is the key. There have been many blows, but, still standing, there is wisdom in the set of the limbs, reaching out to the air for stability. And in these fertile roots, there is still life yet. So, on bits of wood, balance is scribed and I am left standing after the axe
YOU ARE READING
Floating
PuisiI've collected a lot of works I have made for me and thrown them into a mess of empathic poetry I have done for others.
