Poetry like ploughshares have dug the dirt away
opening a road on blood stained hardened clay.
Earthened shells buried deep in different hollow holes.
Guests of war remain at peace.
Heal our their souls.
As we have forgiven those may they forgive us.
Our hatred is uprooted.
Peace lies in the dust.
Cornered not by chains or imprisioned by the guilt,
peace is like a river that washed away the blood we spilt.
Etched into forever our souls will someday be,
in the place God reserves for you my friend and me.
