There are some fights
That don’t matter.
The ones that make you smile beneath a scorn
And make you think of an early Christmas,
Or a prolonged winter,
With the character of an English spring:
The fights you would rather have,
The fights that make memories
To be reminisced on summer days with the city under your feet;
Conflict reconciled in beds,
Making fervent war,
And perhaps a smile.

And there are fights that are woven from silence,
Named disquiet
By the Gods of sorrow.
Fights that sting deep under the skin,
And leave visible bruises,
Shaped in randomness,
The size of oceans and continents.
Fights that make nightmares;
The thread of dreams burn your mind’s fibre,

They are fights I would rather have,
To reconcile
On long walks home,
Or away;
Winning smiles in distant battlefields.



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