When the Gun Gives Up It’s Power


It needs strength to break new ground

when it’s as hard and solid as

silence.

Or so I thought.


It needs strength to breakthrough,

to smash the mould of war

and peace.

Or so I thought.


But just suppose,

the ground gives up it’s power,

the gun refuses to fire

and they allow the flowers

to break, 

bright

delicate 

blooming

flourishing fragile.


Ready to open up

through the self shattered soil,

melting the frozen silence

to make a space

in the barrel

of the gun

an opening

for a warmth,

that will shatter

the ice,

heal the wounds,

stop the war.


I think so.



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