And when we're done fighting each other, having tired of throwing unbearable insults and sharpened rocks and sleek-nosed deliveries of scorching metals, we still fight on.

Fending off the prejudices and assumptions and suspicions and hopes that others have of us.

Refusing to believe in ourselves, or stop believing in ourselves, no matter the growing pile of evidence thrown in front of us.

Trying to crash through glass ceilings of all kinds, and break down barriers of race and religion and gender and colour and language and nationality and choice.

Battling our own fears and demons, against the stumbling blocks we place in front of ourselves, against the restrictions we so arbitrarily impose on the way we live our lives.

Internalising it all, with every cell resisting death, our blood straining against gravity, our minds struggling to retain what they have absorbed so far, and all the while, trying to resist the ravages of the glacial cleansweeping force that is Time.

And always, always scratching away at the mysteries of the world, and those in it, hoping to learn what no one before us has.

And yet, we talk and dream of Peace.
What a quaint little concept.