Attrition

By Helen Wing

                                   ubi solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant

Peace comes

when everything else

is

destroyed,

when we have killed

the colours

and we stand

swaying

in a symphony

of greys.

 

When we walk

our steps are soft

like biting into pears,

feet crunching

through beaches

of ash

and

bone.

 

Peace comes

when

there is

quite simply

no

other

option,

when

there is

nothing

left

to burn

and we

can

no longer

live

here

anyway.