In peace, all seasons
are the same.
Some yearn for
the tranquility of war.
Heat and death
a caressing touch.
But I have no enemies,
only my own thoughts.
So, I choose long
conversations with myself.
And in battle, I laugh
over and over again.
Thoughts of battle
In peace, all seasons
are the same.
Some yearn for
the tranquility of war.
Heat and death
a caressing touch.
But I have no enemies,
only my own thoughts.
So, I choose long
conversations with myself.
And in battle, I laugh
over and over again.
A Wandering Poet 