Such easy talk of the subject “peace.”
The wage is often paid in blood,
With losses of youth in dirt and mud,
With scant hope that violence will cease.
Heavy talk with promises made,
Filling the air and paper sheets,
Hints of promises but no receipts.
Hopes and fears are oft’ played.
Yet, a glimmer from an open door,
A beam of light and chance,
Perhaps a time to even the score.
The peace dream is like a trance,
So vivid, yet an empty roar.
Let’s try, for it’s the only dance.
Francis Conlon is a retired and recovering teacher. For the past 20 years, he has worked as a seasonal river ranger and boat inspector at Yampa River State Park in northwest Colorado. He has published in the local Valley Voice and in Westward Quarterly. He currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.