This is not a nightmare,

nor a simple lie,

this is the reality

from which we can't fly.

We wish it were a dream,

that upon waking,

everything returns,

to what once was, no shaking.

We long to smell roses,

not gunpowder's sting,

for beauty to surround us,

a peaceful, kind spring.

We'd love if society,

were more equal, at last,

without sexual or ethnic divides,

no orphans, no shadows cast.

This is the only good weapon,

the word, it won't kill,

though it may bring pain,

it can help us heal.

Good hurts, yet with time,

it can mend with some grace,

though war's hard to forget,

it leaves its trace.