old village on the outskirts of the
noise and war and conflict, safe
annual celebration for the epitome
of peace, the villagers dance
swish of skirts to marches of battle
click of heels to gunshots and spears
tapping rhythm to drums of war
dance until the sun melts
into billowing clouds, and continue
until the stars fade into
a glowing horizon.
All around their little bubble
the drums of war
continue to beat.
written by: diana