Church Peaks

I am no zealot,
But the view
Onto the church peaks
Makes me jealous
Of me too.
I spend weeks
In trepidation,
In running from the darkest hatred,
Exhausting over simple tasks.
It’s good vacation,
I never dared to think I’d make it,
It is my chance to shed my masks.
My flowers sleep,
My mate is well.
I’m eating ice-cream in the night.
I want to keep,
To grow, embell,
I dream of stopping this whole fight.
And I look out:
The church peaks shine,
Reminding me to cherrish love.
Not zealot. But I am devout
About everything that’s mine,
And that means world. And it’s enough:
To quench the sorrow in the moment,
To stop the striving, fear, regret.
And to let go of my opponent,
His eyes unmoving, lips blood-wet.

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