War brings peace, like fire brings tranquillity to the ravished forest. War is a vestige of ego; the inflamed ego put in a place of money and power will be easily manipulated to war––two fighters whose bluster turns to fisticuffs. The fight continues until blackout or exhaustion. In the end, bruised and battered, bloody with the carnage of pointless death, the two adversaries shake hands, unable to remember what started the fight, and go away to seek peace. The experience of war begs for peace. The smell of death is stuck in the nostrils until the next arrogant generation arises.
Peace is the ultimate end to war. Refugees pouring over the border with the vermin of war infesting their clothes, children with faces riddled with panic, women wearing their belongings on their backs––all with the stoic stare of survival. The plight of others evokes feelings from the compassionate heart, from those whose lives are temporarily stable. The winds of change along with the hard cold rains, makes life an ephemeral feast of the senses as each navigates the valley and peaks of their journey. There will come a time soon, when man will war no more.