I love peace,
The foundation of the world is peace—
Do not shake it.

I choose peace,
Above all that the world offers,
Even at the highest price.
I still choose peace.

I choose peace,
Over the mundane that fades away.
Peace transcends truths and facts,
Unveiling deeper spiritual realities.

I choose peace.
When I have peace, I have it all—
A peace that surpasses all
Human understanding.

I choose peace,
The only peace that embodies
Perpetual ecstasy,
The only peace infused with love,
Immortal peace.

I choose peace,
An invaluable treasure.
Nothing can purchase
Eternal peace,
Which endures endlessly.

I choose peace.
Peace is the promised gift—
Tranquility,
Lawfulness,
A savior.

I choose peace.
Peace is divine grace.
When the Divine knocks and doors open,
He enters, and peace settles within.
Peace is the Gracious God—
His being is peace,
His attributes are peace,
His actions are peace.

When will you ever, Peace, wild wooddove, shy wings shut,
Your round me roaming end, and under be my boughs?
When, when, Peace, will you, Peace? I’ll not play hypocrite
To own my heart: I yield you do come sometimes; but
That piecemeal peace is poor peace. What pure peace allows
Alarms of wars, the daunting wars, the death of it?

O surely, reaving Peace, my Lord should leave in lieu
Some good! And so he does leave Patience exquisite,
That plumes to Peace thereafter. And when Peace here does house
He comes with work to do, he does not come to coo,
He comes to brood and sit.

Making Peace by Denise Levertov

A voice from the dark called out,
“The poets must give us
imagination of peace, to oust the intense, familiar
imagination of disaster. Peace, not only
the absence of war.”

But peace, like a poem,
is not there ahead of itself,
can’t be imagined before it is made,
can’t be known except
in the words of its making,
grammar of justice,
syntax of mutual aid.

A feeling towards it,
dimly sensing a rhythm, is all we have
until we begin to utter its metaphors,
learning them as we speak.

A line of peace might appear
if we restructured the sentence our lives are making,
revoked its reaffirmation of profit and power,
questioned our needs, allowed
long pauses. . . .

A cadence of peace might balance its weight
on that different fulcrum; peace, a presence,
an energy field more intense than war,
might pulse then,
stanza by stanza into the world,
each act of living
one of its words, each word
a vibration of light—facets
of the forming crystal.