Our Quiet Conflict

The opening salvo was a quiet one.

There were no warning signs, no open declarations,
or speeches, just the sound of nothing;
Ours is a civil war of wordlessness,
you play the north, and I play a southern fool
enslaved by my roots, unwilling to abolish my antiquated ways,
waiting, pensively for you to free me;

The boundaries, clearly marked, grow faded;
each passing day a new skirmish,
casualties add up; wounds are made,
then heal, then are made again-
a cycle of hostility in words and glances;

Politics seem pointless, conversation becomes banter;
fortified walls penetrable
collateral damage incalculable;
we never talk, we just sit
staring across a vacuum
that has consumed our will to make peace;

We spent years forging a war,
both knowing that a victor would claim no glory,
just a realized understanding of human hearts,
how they hurt, bleed;
our negotiations less than courteous,
our conferences, brutal;
no parade marched in cadence,
rockets did not explode in celebration,
only silence when you breached my last defense.

Copyright 2005 Larry J. Knight, Jr.

by Larry J. Knight, Jr.

Other poems of KNIGHT, JR. (3)

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