As day is to a sword, night is to a shield.

The sleeping pills in her pillowcase, the dark blank in her blanket, her purse lips purple; she disappears, she disappears. Her fears cuddle warm beside, to tears that went dry in the beat of her heart's drum. The strum, strum, stern in her veins, she breaks free finally floating to her lost rhythm of peace.

I could say the world is ending tomorrow, and no one would care. I could say the world will go forever, and no one would care. I could write words, words, words of hope, of love, of humanity, of peace, of pain and the world will still spin to unchanged tomorrows. The human heart balled up as a fist, just grows old clenching to life, to pride and ego, it won't let go. But the words slip through, as the last pump of blood to a lost web of veins.

When it's all said and done, I hope to die with a smile on my face.

Does giving your piece of mind, bring a peace of mind? Or is it better to be silent and let the war inside subside?

People are complaining of having rags and not riches, but I find it a blessing just to have rags, to wipe away the dirt and dust that may come in the course of life.

With the world in a chaos of questions, family should be the answer.

In the horrors of war, please bring me peace.