Inspired by Merril, I had a go at writing a contribution to the poets for peace chain of poetry. I don’t do prayer, or God, or even hope with any great conviction. Still, I know what is worth fighting for.
Peace drops with the dew,
Ripples in the blackbird’s throat,
Curls with the vixen and her cubs,
Sucks its thumb with the sleeping child.
Peace falls with the first rays and the last,
The moonlight and the sunlight,
And it threads among the stars,
Into the secret dark of space.
But not here, buzz the black flies of war,
In these shiny, polished rooms,
Where men is suits or long black robes
With stones for hearts and blinkered eyes
And money in vaults and protected lives
Plot and plan with long, cold fingers
To steal the song from the blackbird’s throat,
The peace from the vixen’s joyful cubs,
And fill the limpid dreams of the sleeping child
With the bloody sludge