Peace Poem by Martin Ward

Peace: a single syllable
that melts in the mouth
and trips off the tongue.

Caressed by leathered
hands that sign treatise
or simply fail to understand.

Charmingly wined and dined
and wooed with flowers;
showered with compliments.

Courted by cruel lovers
whose cold hearts
proffer perfect love.

Peace: beautiful is she -
has to be a she, as men
always seem to leave her.

How many times
must we meet in this place
to rake-over battles;

continuing to bicker
over who was right,
or simply looking for a fight?

Let us begin again:
this time, in unison;
in harmony and rhyme.

World peace or
simply peace of mind:
embrace it every time.

Peace: a noun, a verb,
an exclamation:
shout it to every nation.

Left out in the cold
or subjected to cold war:
is peace worth fighting for?