Getting through

what does it do?

Only wastes breath,

the message muffled,

lost before it lands.

Still, we try.

To speak what we feel

is not to raise a weapon,

yet words cut

when received through wounds.

Running out of air

just to be heard

makes silence a kind of mercy.

Even stone structures crack

when pushed too hard

for too long.

Peace is what we owe,

but sometimes we shout war

into moments that beg for stillness.

And when pride

crafts excuses with trembling hands,

we watch something beautiful fall—

not from lack of love,

but from the weight of being right.

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