To those who write poetry
I call armistice
Your words
Are songs to the wounded
Cried from the nibs of fountained
Thoughts
Bleeding beauty
From a rose to paint the page
You draw our fears and
Breath them life
But now’s the time
You are not mine
Now’s the time
For action
Write only
On placards and march
Make roses guns and
Rain only anger
The world
Is ours and all within
We search for truth and answers
brothers
With feet and arms not words
