The Haunting Legacy of War

In fields where poppies sway, beneath the sun's scornful eye,

The echoes of silence stretch, where once the brave did die.

The ground, soaked in stories, whispers through the breeze,

Tales of fallen heroes, brought to their knees.

A mother's tear, a child's cry, the world wears a somber shroud,

Cities crumble, dreams tumble, under war's heavy cloud.

Each bomb that falls writes sorrow's script, lives shattered, unspoken,

A tapestry of grief, the fabric of humanity broken.

Leaders speak of glory, of victory and might,

But the shadows tell a different tale in the hush of night.

For each bullet casts a shadow, each soldier a ghost,

And every battleground becomes regret's silent host.

Where once there was laughter, now only echoes of pain,

The innocence of morning lost, will it bloom again?

For war's true face is a thief, stealing light, stealing time,

Leaving behind the fractured hearts, the rhythm without rhyme.

Yet from this darkened soil, can hope's seed find a way?

Can we learn from the past, or are we doomed to replay?

The echoes of silence call, to remember, to reflect,

To seek a path of peace, to connect, to protect.

So listen to the whispers, the stories of the old,

Embrace the power of peace, more precious than gold.

For in the echoes of silence, the truth is loud and clear—

The cost of war is vast, and its end must be near.