Monday, April 10, 2017

NaPoWriMo, Day Ten, Poem Eight

Empty Hand

This is the fate
of those with folly
fought fighting to end.

Hands held tight
knuckles still bruised
never used.

Higher road tripwired
unsafe space
between two sides.

Extreme side
braced against wall
pushing forward.

Neither side cares
balanced olive branch
cascades down.

wrath floods
dove drowned
ravens count bodies

search wide
can't find
common ground.

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