Peace is Relative

By Dylan Lopez For many, peace is a broken rifle scatteredover the dried, blood-clot Field in Flanderswhere trench poppies bloom brass shellsand thick mud washes clean off the milk-whiteheadstones—graves twice-filled with those namelesswho cry peace at last, from their green hollows. Peace is winged victory and hoisted flags hung off the bow of a battleship’s […]

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