The Peace Train. [Until it gets to my local hub, from whence it comes on a Peace Scooter.] Sometimes it takes several days for delivery, but other times it’s same day. I guess it depends on whether there is any in stock regionally.
The dogs of war are slipping. The ropes they are a ripping. The palms they are a bleeding, as citizens are reading of risks that led to slippage: of quips and of equipage, and how it wasn't expected, and courses were corrected, but still it all goes wrong.
Someone put a tiny, limp-gunned tank
on Danube west bank --
in Budapest, opposite Parliament.
Unsubtle symbolism, indeed,
but worth noting:
The might of violence
made feeble in the face of democracy,
and all that.
So true,
and yet so few
seem to believe it.
We seem to believe
that matching savagery
is the key to strategy
in opposing the extreme,
but then we've really just made more
extremism, haven't we?
A bad moment for those growing up during the peace years is the realization that there were no peace years.
They took the Moral High Ground,
commanding its lofty heights.
And never bombed trespassers,
but let them fail on their own.
Some wanted to let their anger show,
to know that they’d struck back.
Those few tumbled from the high ground,
landing in the scree of despot lackeys.
In the end, the powerless, that Juggernaut,
could not be defeated.
For every step usurpers made
shone a harsh light on their souls,
and all the world saw the gruesome image
that was reflected back.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 