Peace, to me, is usually futile, stretched out during long periods of time. Sometimes it is calm and steady; a relentless and unbroken sheet of pale snow. However–like snow–it can be dissolved to mush and murky grey as easily as you cut a thread.
It is a fragile spiderweb, strung together by many layers and sparkling in the sunlight; a beacon, an idol of beauty and awe. But it can be broken with a single swipe, torn into shattered layers and limp strands. It is a china vase painted with beautiful designs and patterned with glowing blues, lined with soft barely visible creams; in the rays of dawn and the moonlight illuminating water's surface.
Peace is awed over, inspired by, romanticized and desired.
It is a tool used by strategic world leaders but also present in everyday life be it a pause between the battle of two birds or a temporary truce between different groups at school. A pact between countries; a law. Peace flows through everything, fragile but strengthened by the belief placed in it.
An enigma, a oxymoron.