Safe-guarded like a mother’s love,
a concept of peace manifests the dove,
flying free, unscathed by jaded thieves,
un-vexed by life’s little pet peeves.
Freedom to love, learn, live with each other,
a growing body of thoughts we take no bother,
obsessive, compulsive, saturating the wet rags
of liberty and truth, now each in separate bags.
It wasn’t always divided like states,
there were no borders or defining traits.
Things like peace were a simple oath
made to wars with nothing left to loath.
Now it takes miles of red tape
to stick a notion like preventing rape;
permits and privileges to hunt and fight,
reasons absolved like our human rights.
It takes wings and hearts of gold and jade
to fly as that dove whom the heavens made.