Those
thud-and-blunder paperbrass sagas
never said who cleaned up
afterwards.How brave and destructive our heros were!
(I always skipped the battle scenes
to find out who won.)
Our heros were on a mission
and the end justified the means.
But I dreamed of another kind of
story:
a story made of healing;of seedlings bursting pavement;
of childhood spring dawn;
of close encounters with life;
of the wisdom that brings light
and the courage that gives birth.
I wanted to sing the saga of peace
but I learned that peace is a true poem
and true poems have no words.
Therefore my peace dream remains
untold,
unknown, mysterious, and true;while the thud-and-blunder paperbacks
(made of real paper)
shout their loud red victory dreams.
Thus they win a win; but no more.
For true dream is beyond victory.
True dream is beyond dream.The saga of peace ripens in silence.
Joy is a song that sings itself
when life surpasses adventure.
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