It comes as a painful aching,
strange pulling within my chest,
is the pain from you or I?
Lungs singed by napalm blasts,
angry word bombs raining from the sky,
both riddling each other with bullets.
Where is the love?
Neither one budging in negotiations…
He said…she said…the wasteland.
Walking from the battleground,
head hung in Soul’s sadness,
unfulfilled peace treaty desire.
(c) Amanda Wilson 2013