When

He speaks

They

Always

Say he’s

From

The mothers

Land;

He explains

As they

Ask this

Afiacan,

In yin

& yang

Signs

Black

& White

Take them

Back home

Again,

His hair

Has grown

Grey

Tired

Of all the

Talk now he’s

Out in the

Real world,

At his last

Bus stop

Going home

Speaking

Poems in

Foreign languages

His only guns

Are his vocal

Cords and

As the wind

Passes through

His barrels of

Peace, they

Will

Echo &

Penetrate

Through

Your soul

When he says

His

Name is………

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2 thoughts on ““Pistol Of Peace”

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