Peace comes in packets. It is air-dropped. It has quotas. Not served as an all-you-can-eat buffet, where you stagger out pot-bellied, sated after three helpings of mandarin-marinated calm. Take your packet and run with it. Rock it crooningly, make it last. Soak in its nourishment for treks through the marshland. Teach your children not to play toss with its doughy white balls. Divide it wisely. Sparingly. Warily. And always stock a crate, a spare stash of easy breath. Label it ‘Fragile’ and ‘This Way Up’.
Look to the sky. Look up in hope. Stretch your arms to the ether so they think you are praying. What do they know, Unbeliever, you’re only reaching, your eyes are only searching, your spirit is only screaming, for your next fix of stasis.
Wisdom Wears Neon Pyjamas 
Vox populi