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8 12 2012

Peace and Love, he said, and stained those christ like words on the page.
black on white…as it usually is
But this was deeper somehow
within it a vow
This was a bard, a poet, a minstrel.
Someone else who knew
that when those words are true
they bite in deep and hang on

Though they flutter,
black on the white page
of thousands of years of history.
Left there alone through so many wars and conflicts,
only to be used again as soon as it was over,
and they all came home,
victorious.
 Those who didn’t
found out the truth of the phrase
as they left their earthly trappings
and made their way along the path of their own beliefs.

As the wise old men who waged those wars,
sat in their leather recliners,
counting their money…
and drinking the wine
squeezed from the grapes of the young men
who believed that those elders
actually gave a crap about the sacrifice of their youth
or their lives
or their truth

This was different

because it was from someone who believed it

and meant it

in a world gone mad

governed by those who don’t

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