They seek to destroy our map of peace,

to shatter the piece of the map we always knew.

 

They seek to employ the architects of silence,

to mute our tongues and drain our ink wells.

 

They seek to blur the sight of the map,

to irrigate its roots with termites of destruction.

 

The questions are running agog,

as we have not been bred in pots of hypocrisy,

and trees remain rooted generations before they go away.

 

We will paint in the colours of glittering melodies.

We will paint in the colours of glittering melodies.

We will paint in the colours of glittering melodies.

 

Our peace will not become a shattered piece.

In the basket of many eggs,

a few bad eggs will not foul up our air for too long.

 

We will paint in the colours of glittering melodies.

We will paint in the colours of glittering melodies.

We will paint in the colours of glittering melodies.

 

As this map of peace will stand, in one piece,

rioting memories will paint in the colours of glittering melodies.

 

 

Written from Hour 3 text prompt.