Peace Poem

For Tre L. Loadholt

Tree of Life by Gustav Klimt

Cynicism runs
Deep, deeper than the pipes buried
Beneath the land of our ancestors.

We seek slivers of hope, carefully
Praying the shards of their fragile
Nature won’t cut
Our hands when we try
To grasp them.

I breath in, remembering to think
Happy thoughts, because the world
Isn’t fucked. We just made it that way.

Peace is a funny thing, maybe
It’s an illusion, or
Delusion? I can’t decide.

Maybe progress is just
Wave upon wave, and we only
Notice when the tide
Comes to shore.

Still, I save room
For hope, kind of like
Pumpkin pie, with an extra side
Of whipped cream, because
I’ve known since I was a kid
That it’s important to save
Room for dessert.