The Hunt for Peace

I go into the fields without weapons,

only my empty hands.

I walk slowly through the grass

Each blade brushing lightly

against my hands

In brief moments of silence

I can hear its voice.

Soft at first,

just the faintest hint of a voice

other than my own

The grass whispers of surrender.

Peace is no creature that flees

it waits, patient, beneath the noise.

I kneel to drink from a still pool,

and for a moment,

the water does not ripple.

But thought returns

a branch breaks,

and the calm scatters like startled doves.

I learn peace is not found

but granted,

a guest who comes

when I finally stop searching.