There Will Come a Day

There will come a day
when children will make playgrounds of battlefields,
and kick footballs against once prison walls.
Maggot tarnished ropes once made taut
echoing the cracking of a neck
now used to construct forts and skip with.
When Uncle Sam and Mother Earth will
put aside their sibling rivalry realising
blood may be thicker than water,
but blood loss is more dire than dehydration.
We will sit around fires
pressing scarred hands together,
matching scratches,
enjoining wounds,
forming the calligraphy
of a common biography.
As one body, a pinprick on a finger will resound
through eternity traveling space, time, miles and minutes
piercing our silence
like a tap drip drip dripping in the night.
And the serenity of words will be realised.
We will recognise that everybody hurts
but more importantly everybody heals.
And the ferocity of words will be realised.
We will load our mouths with syllables,
aim at targets with conviction
leave wounds of words from those fort turrets.
Every soldier will be first and foremost a poet.

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