by Brianna G. Harte
Music ringing in his ears
Wind rolling past the car
Arguing shaking them all.
Can fighting never end?
Between a simple discussion
And a brutal battle to be won,
It never seems that peace can be found.
But it always is.
For most at least.
Though many cannot know
A ceaseless collision of swords
At every junction of thoughts,
It shall not be associated with peace.
Is that tranquility?
Or is it like putting on a band-aid,
Protecting a wound
That must inevitably stand up
To its problems?
The siblings clashing
The husbands and wives attacking
The friends turning their backs.
Not all are like this.
But some are.
It is not to say whether you or I
Know one view or the other,
But whether or not we recognize
Where we want our arguments to go.
Where outcomes lie
And from which paths they come.
Copyright © 2016 Brianna G. Harte. All rights reserved.