I asked Peace if I could soar,
To feel immortality at my ease,
To glance down and taste the ocean,
To rule wherever I pleased.

Sorrow filled her vibrant eyes,
She pronounced that it could not be.
Her voice cracked with every syllable,
Her guilty conscience paralyzing me.

She caressed my frozen cheeks,
In the brisk bone-chilling cold.
Denying my request to join hands,
She said a story had yet to be told.

While this I did not comprehend,
Her true self emerged as tired and frail.
I argued and pleaded and stomped my foot,
My frivolous cries to no avail.

Her chapped lip trembled slightly,
Tears shed from melancholy eyes.
They traced a pattern upon iced pools,
It was the mother of all lone cries.

Guilt slapped me in the face,
My body slamming into the frigid ground.
Leaves screeched under my haggard jacket,
For her anger I had found.

I felt the roar of the ocean,
Its vibrations squirmed in my chest.
It pleaded for my safety,
But Peace's mood was not at best.

I sprang to my feet and fled,
Attacked by branches and so.
Vehement roars trailed the Earth,
The story's climax began to grow.

So I returned to my desperate village,
Chagrin unwillingly chained to my feet.
Dry stares welcomed me home,
For their reverie was obsolete.

I cowered in front of my people,
The guilt reeking from my soul.
I watched my mother's sullen gaze,
For Peace had screamed her whole.

For years I crept into alleys,
Ashamed by my pitiful history.
For my village had burned to flames,
Because War had affirmed his victory.

As decades and eras soared past,
Peace bashfully found me in the snow.
Her guilt matched my wretched soul,
She was obliterated by my bow.