The battle ground is smooth
and well-defined. Love is the defender.
Hate dies of its own neglect;
then when forcing its attack,
invokes the solemn rite
of stand your ground,
of casualty by friendly fire,
and of preemptive might.
Love's weapon is itself. Its arsenal
is peace to fight the demons of the wars.
Alas, it's not so popular at all.
Death and all the means we choose
to make it happen is the modus operandi
of the world, and we as western countrymen
and leaders of each blessed fray, will cheer.
Each year the marble halls of Washington
grow sturdier as we, the folks back home
affix our "yes" upon the bills
that buy the blazing guns of war.
But love is like that,
offering its kiss, and then
politely giving way to the invisible;
here it is non-entities like hate will enter,
whip-up the roaring crowd with cries
of conquest, then discretely step aside
into the void, leaving love to coalesce.
This is the true reality
that rides the wave of peace.
This is the only crown of victory,
the sole memorial of strife subdued.
Lift it high, for it must survive.
Love alone is Life!
~