Peace is a tiny grain
Lost in the sands of a thousand shores
A minuscule drop of rain,
The untouched ray of sun that restores.
Peace is word denied
Written with History's red ink
From the blood of men who have died
The missing chain from humanity's link.
Peace is the oblique line
That tends to fence all man's thoughts
The opaque image in his mind
That somehow his being forever sought.
Peace is there within you, me
But slowly it faded into sheer subtlety
Unaware, we must have lost it completely
That to love is now our disability.
Copyright
Cynthia Buhain Baello
April 6,2012
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem