“War”

Gray morning. The world holds its breath—  
A hush before thunder and tears.  
Steel on steel, the drum of death,  
Echoes down corridors of years.

Boots trample dew on the trembling grass,  
Letters unread in worn pockets lie;  
Young faces, mirrors too fragile for glass,  
Look to the clouds, and silently cry.

Fires bloom where gardens stood,  
Barbed wire blossoms where roses fell;  
Ashes and sorrow poison the wood—  
The silent songs that stories tell.

Yet beyond the fury, across smoking fields,  
Hope flutters quiet, a white flag raised;  
Outstretched hands the stillness yields,  
Hearts remembering peaceful days.

Let memory hold this anguish tight,  
Let future dawn more gently rise—  
For war is a shadow that shrouds the light,  
But hope, undaunted, never dies.

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