Peace is a dance nobody wants to lead.
Too slow, too fragile, shattering on touch.
We drape ourselves in camouflage dreams,
pretend it\'s courage, but it\'s just retreat.
They say war sharpens men like knives,
but it\'s just another way to bleed,
another excuse to not fix the house
cracks spreading like spider veins across ceilings.
The streets are littered with forgotten answers.
Politicians, suits too pressed, dodging questions—
the cowards’ choir hums louder every year.
Their bullets are just syllables with sharp edges.
We’re afraid of waking up to silence,
the kind that demands a mirror’s truth.
It’s easier to bomb a face you’ve never loved
than hold the trembling hands of your neighbor.
Peace is work that burns the fingertips.
War just makes you deaf to screaming.