Money is pretty evil
but I think what eats up peace
is the private struggles of men,
less concrete adjective and concepts
that the darkness whispers to us
before we close eyes and mimic the final sleep.
It's the unmet expectations, eluding us,
the concern for the person we hate most.
the hunger for some lacquer to paint over wounds;
it's the small hills of indecision,
the desiring that our lives would stand still, smiling.
But I close my eyes to see
the blue sky,
where love and peace meet.
Because writing this,
I want no more part of it
than you do.
Delilah Miller
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/blue-sky-ideals/
