the grenade that detonates
with every spoken truth and bridges two souls
patching the wounds from the extracted venom
our bodies laid disparaged in drought
as the brigade gained the land
the battle that raged upon our gates
but in a distance a voice calling out the honor in our names
the muzzled narrative rupturing
holding a sharp pen and ready for combat
cleanse all that has been detested
exude the power to ban the war
and rise reborn

© jacob greb — from lovers’ tiff: a ballad