Not solely at war's grim shadow,
But peace itself, a daunting specter!
An illicit fear courses through our veins,
Inhisited, entrenched, a legacy unexplained.
Boastful echoes
of faux courage resound,
We loudly
profess a fearlessness profound,
Yet, in our
discourse, death takes the stage,
A dubious
shield against an unseen rage.
Is it life's
embrace or death's daunting call,
That leaves us
cowering behind a bravado wall?
The assailant,
not necessarily bold,
Could be a
coward in fear's tight hold.
We, the
so-called knights of chivalry,
Quail at the
path of audacity,
Becoming silent
milestones on the way,
Unaware that
the destination is but a stone's throw away.
Enthusiasm
courses through our veins,
Guiding our
steps, teaching life's refrains.
Yet, warriors
we claim to be, merely spectate,
As we stumble,
our heads bowed in fear's weight.
Legally, tears
flow in the face of agony,
Yet, in joy,
they might betray conspiracy.
A scheme
concocted by frustration or defeat,
A riddle that
life and death discreetly repeat.
Why, we ponder
once more,
Is uproar,
riot, murder, bomb-blasts, our daily lore?
A routine whise
silence becomes unnerving,
Perhaps the
very reason, disturbingly deserving,
That not only
war strikes terror deep,
But peace
itself, in our hearts, we keep.
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