An Open Letter to Peace

When meaty fists meet pacafists,they draw what comes to a draw.A brawling boulder that grows ever bolder,Approaching a tide which is tied to it's flaws. Though allowed to be spoken alloud,You prove absent in our hour of need.He on the throne with rage out-thrown,Demands duels with a dual-edged bleed. The feat of our feet is to fight to not fight,Marching as heir's to more dirty air.With one simple phrase we're tossed into frays,And we unfairly pay their fares. When you return to the scene, maybe unseen,Will we hear our cues from the queues?Or will we wait for the weight of a world unchained,To crush us, and earn us an urn to use? 

This poem is about: 
Our world


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