PICKING UP THE PIECES.

When we get along, or are at least agreeable,
Then it’s not peace we’ve found,
But a ceasefire,
And the use of it affords
A slight accord
Until war breaks out again,
And normality resumes,
And in the rooms where hostilities billet us
We plan further acts of engagement
And wage them when possible
And jostle for position when not.

Bottles ready to battle with if sticks and stones fail;
After knives and staves break;
Once bombs and bullets have lulled
The dumb and dull
Into a false sense of arrogance
And fancy,
And past that time when even we,
Nimble enough to know better,
Forget our past encounters and mount
A verbal barrage larger than the last
And bound to collapse into blasts as fast.

And God help the few who knew the two of us
Before escalation made a battlefield
Of disagreements;
When friendship’s ends were mentored
By love’s bosom,
And respectful words were etched
By willing quills,
For they have to carry the weight of our hate
With heavier hearts
Than we, once partners, ever can
Now the bands have struck Advance once more.