POEM: Maitreya

Future Buddha, sitting in the valley,
peering over low dunes, in the waning sun.
Oh, those low dunes recall peace gone badly.
Tanks in columns, aiming their big guns.

Will they? Won’t they? Run them toward lowlands.
Speed them down the valley, til they hit the pass?
What’s your future, if they charge the homeland?
Huge peace icons seldom deter the brass.

But I suppose being a peace symbol
cannot work at the size of a thimble.

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