An axe to grind, You
Look for a chainsaw to fight;
Your foe gets away.

You cry, you sigh, and
Evaluate your mistake
Only to see that –

Time once wasted can
Never be brought back home, where,
From the comfort of

Your light warm blanket,
You pick faults in, and fights with,
The one you scorn so.

Exhausted, alone,
You tend to the bruises that
You earned from having

Lifted that very
Heavy chainsaw. “The axe,” you
Realize, “would’ve been a lot

Easier to lift.”
Next time when you see your foe
Planning to have it your

Way, The axe will weigh
More than it otherwise does,
Teaching you that it

Too, can hurt very
Much; hoping that you’ll, in time
See – Peace sets you free.


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