We gathered our horrors
and fed them to the fire.
Our skins became smoke; our arrows ashes.
Skies spilled from our open hands,
and moons rolled ripe at our feet.
Our teeth dulled down and rooted deep
into the common skull.
Finally, our bellies were full.
Peace grows wild
in fields of forgetting.
Some thoughts on peace (working on that!) for Marian's prompt at Real Toads