I Choose Peace


A yellow house with a blue roof, sitting in a garden

Along the Volga

When in life we reach an age, a need, a trial, a test, the razor’s edge
Delving deeper, pondering, reflecting, remembering, planning, hoping
Denying, angry, we bargain, we grieve while craving peace, acceptance
Until we understand acceptance is a choice with nothing and much to say

I wonder the reason for my being, my being, still, my unique voice, my song
Why should I be alive when others perish from slips and tries, foolishness
To survive the stupidity of my youth, head shots, concussions, fractured skulls
A carjacking half a world away, to live, to walk away confused, to tell my tale

I never expected to reach my current age, such a time unimaginable in youth
Hubris of tender years, invincible, believing, hoping, only the good die young
Oh how we want to be the good, though by this we think looks, talent, money
Or try to emulate adults, so innocent, many do not survive their elders, hate

Still, here I sit, trying to pry the blinders from my soul and from my eyes
To believe that I matter, that this is not the blind hubris of my current years
Pushing, prodding, straining, alone, I struggle to change the scenery on stage
I know that knowing how much I do not know, a start, will not bring change

I rail against organized hatred, fear driven, greed driven, prejudice, murder
Politics, religions, crime lords, cartels, corruption everywhere, at every level
Senseless, painful, frightening though they may be, they do not, cannot matter
Threats, confusion, misdirection, a human obstacle course to distract, mislead

Guns, bombs, conflict, genocide, ever-present dangers, yet not their own cause
War, the monkey-demon of our youth, patriotism disguises mere power struggles
Savage conflicts where hundreds, thousands and millions die alone, die together
Offered the sop of country, cause, glory, honor, religion, more dogma than faith

Uptown mansion, downtown home, country cabin, slum-made cardboard refuge
When we callously destroy the places that we live, with open eyes and closed heart
We die among massed humanity, not special now, the only question being how
To wander diseased, wounded, to starve or die of thirst, a searing nova flash, ash

Do we court death while believing we alone will be somehow saved from the fall
Our power, wealth, lineage, race, color, faith, guns and walls will not protect us
No, we say, we are living for our promised afterlife, and if so, then are we living
In all our hate, fear and rage how can we believe our chosen paradise will suit us

Like a lottery winner on a rampant spree, a sprint toward crippling debt, death
We cannot manage our only resource, our home, before, how could we then after
The same is true of living in peace, love, understanding and why we cherish saints
Precepts of most heavens, lives-after, so I’ve been told, how will we ever manage

By this I hope to prove to me, to you, we are in no way sacred, special, yet
We feel, think, dream, wonder alone inside our hearts, our heads seeking spirit
Because we all live alone, together, unique in our quest, in our understanding
So you and I, everyone is only what we choose, become, savior or destroyer, both

I think, believe, hope we will live outside our base procreation to make this choice
Tired tropes the cynical among us  will cry, good and evil in their constant combat
I feel it’s more a simple tale of opposites, on/off, with no values but what we decide
Our unique choice is nothing more than how we choose to live. I choose peace



  1. Truth be told, hatred, greed, prejudice, it ‘s easier than peace. I like your words.


    1. Thank you. I always appreciate compliments from someone who writes as eloquently as you do.


      1. I’m honored by your compliment. You are quite an artist.


        1. Should we form a mutual admiration society?

          *Philip Brent Harris*

          The Pen’s Might lifenart1@gmail.com

          *Brent Harris Fine Art brentharrisfineart@gmail.com

          Philip Brent Digital Art and Photography lifenart2@gmail.com

          * The Extra Mile Art, shirts and other gift items

          Pacifica, CA 94044 650.515.0514 * * *


          1. I’ve got nothing like that.
            My real name is Eva Matson.
            I live in Kenilworth, NJ
            My email address is

            And by dialing my mobile # you’ll just reach me with nothing to sell.

            This “fall back” crap is so not for me. It’s 6:11pm and dark out. Here comes winter. Lucky you in California!


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