The Endless Struggle

from the whisper of the wind,

passing through the time-worn trees,

to the quiet, soothing buzzing,

from a nearby hive of bees,

the tranquil trickle of the stream,

which weaves between the slopes,

of the ancient, majestic mountains

jutting upward in high hopes,

of reaching the mysterious heavens,

so beautifully lit by the evening sun,

they cease to lay down their weapons,

they won’t give up the gun,

yet sadly they will never make it,

for it’s a battle which cannot be won.