Peace /pēs/ noun: peace; noun: the peace. freedom from disturbance; tranquility. a state or period in which there is no war or a war has ended.
Peace is a song played upon an evening guitar for everyone, peace is a song splaid across a keyboard, peace is a song trickled on morning toast by a flute, peace is a song bristled on the quills of adventure, peace is a song tapped upon he floor by dancing shoes, peace is a song mapped across the spread sheet of this world.
Peace is a song nobody seems to know the words to anymore, a song America hasn't bothered to learn. A song I've taught myself, every night, listening to notes and tunes. A song welling up on the edges of my brain, expanding on the forethought of tomorrow. A song that has never been played on a radio or earbuds, a song that has been stuck in my head ever since I felt an act of hate,
"Here, fix this," they say, handing out the homework. I stare at the world – er, worksheet. This is a problem I can't solve alone. The world is heating. What am I supposed to do? The oceans are rising. What am I supposed to do? Species are dying. What am I supposed to do? We are dying ... What am I supposed to do? I raise my hand, "What are we supposed to do?" The billionaire – er, teacher looks up. "Fix it." Nobody is working. We are all solemnly staring at our world – er, worksheet. It's quiet. I can hear the clock ticking away the seconds we have left. The CEOs – er, teacher tells us to hand them in. I am the last to hand mine in. I notice no one wrote anything on theirs. We sit down. I raise my hand again. "What was the answer?" The president – er, teacher looks startled. He doesn't say anything. "Never mind,"
Some days I wonder why I love you. and then I wonder, does that make it NOT love? and then, if it's NOT love.. what could it be?
My feelings are cluster of unacquainted people, no one is talking and no one seems to want to. These are the days when I've been reading overly dramatic novels and feel like my life is utterly ordinary.
But then I see your face again and it all comes back.
You are still the little boy I met in the sandbox oh so long ago, you are still the boy who gave me that stupid plastic purple gem, you are still that person... your eyes still look at me the same way, asking questions I don't have the answers to.
You are still the boy who squeezed my hand harder then anyone else's when theater was over, you are still the boy who asked me if I would like to walk downtown with him on the last day of school,
I am the sunblock caked into the crevasses of my skin, I am the shock of lightning that bursts through my veins, I am the sun licked shoulders stinging fretfully, I am the sweet caress of the wind whirling the thoughts of this will end someday away, I am the grit of the sand stuck in my shoes, I am the full day of sunshine boxed away to be opened on a cloudy day. I am the heat of the core reflecting on a well worn face, weathered beautifully by time.
I am a girl of flowers, a rose beginning to bloom, a poppy swaying in the breeze, a lily begging for room. I am a girl of heat, a sun lighting up the home, a vein pulsing with lava, sunshine brushed out by a comb. I am a girl of waters, a river passing by, a lake of quiet stillness, a ocean of tears to cry. I am a girl of summer, windows all the way down rolling in the lush green grass,
When the folds of blue have finally colored themselves sunset and captured Selfies and hearts. When the moon paints her marbles silver and rolls them across the floor of the sky for earth to look at as she drifts off into her realm of dreams.
When people have tucked their spawn beneath blankets and sheets, promised morning and flicked off the lights. When the bloodshot sky clots around the horizon and commands us to call her dawn, whispering to her armies of trees to not move when they can be seen.
When the flowers return to their plots and gardens from their late bars and night clubs, and pretend to wake up from a deep slumber as if to fool us. When light is spread over our land like honey on morning toast, it looks like a road, or many roads rather, all pointing to the west, telling us we will find yesterday's sun but not where we expect it to be.