When words drop as pearls
But are found as shards,
Much has been lost
In translation.
By then, lines have been drawn,
Weapons in hand,
Body poised for a battle
That can lose the war.
With hackles raised,
Reason has lost its sound.
A circular dance of adversaries,
Bring a stalemate
That only deepens the wounds.
There are no winners
While the message is lost.
It is not about me, you and I
But more about us.
Hear me, and it will not kill.
Touch me, and you will recall.
Hold me, and we will heal.
Love me, and the heart will listen.
- mh. (c) 2020
