I can tell this war isn’t over yet, despite swords sheathed and rifles in a stack. I still feel the hot blood pound in my head which they’d gladly sever with a back-turned hack. They've called a truce, a temporary thing, a pause in hostilities until then. What’s then? Do we wait for a bell to ring? No, I’m sure it’ll be them tells us when. The other side’s used to having their way, gives them perverse joy to keep us at war. They’ll keep up an act of good will, then say, enough of this “make nice.” Peace is a bore. Yeah, that’s how it is with this type of foe, a bully, a narcissist or a thug. They sometimes hate themselves, but then, you know, feel better after squishing you like a bug. Hey, for now, maybe they’ll keep that concealed, ‘cause they use charm and lies as weapons, too. When it’s over you can walk off that field. But, just in case, I’ll watch your back when you do. A hush will come on that front of your soul, your wounds will fade like the ink on this rhyme. Like nature reclaims the battle's shell hole, love will bring your scarred heart peace. Love and time.
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