The Wounds Beneath Peace

In realms where strife finds no release,

And shadows stretch, devouring peace,

Beyond the clash of steel and fire,

A deeper wound, a pain much dire.

Where poverty, a spectral guest,

Haunts hollow homes, steals hope's last rest,

And dignity, once bright and whole,

Now lies in tatters, lost in soul.

It's not just hunger that we feel,

But yearning hearts, crushed dreams that steal.

When justice falters, blind and weak,

And truth's clear voice can hardly speak,

A quiet war, unseen, unheard,

Where human spirits lie interred,

Beneath the weight of what’s denied,

Where peace and worth are swept aside.

A land untouched by battle’s rage

Can still become a desolate stage.

Where silent chains of want are bound,

And weary souls on barren ground,

Bear burdens heavy, year by year,

Watered by silent, bitter tears.

No booming guns, no crimson stain,

Yet in each breast, a piercing pain,

As worth is stripped, and spirits wane,

And life becomes a losing game.

The intellect, so sharp, so vast,

When cold and proud, it’s bound to last—

Yet wisdom, when it serves the few,

Can blind the many, crush the view.

For knowledge, lacking soul and grace,

Becomes a weapon in its place,

A story cruelly left untold,

That kills the peace with reasoned cold,

And shrouds the world in endless night,

Where truth and mercy lose the fight.

And unity, so fragile, thin,

Is snapped when prejudice begins.

A creeping vine that binds the heart,

And tears the bonds that once did start

A union strong, a common cause,

Now fractured by unjust laws.

The poor remain in shadowed plight,

When walls of difference block the light,

And peace, a whisper on the breeze,

A distant shore across rough seas,

A promise broken, left to fade,

A cruel illusion, poorly played.

The unheard cry, the pleading gaze,

The outstretched hand through hazy maze,

The child who dreams on shifting sand,

A future slipping through their hand—

These silent witnesses proclaim

The hollow emptiness of fame,

Of peace we boast, a fragile keep,

While countless souls in darkness weep,

Awake to hunger’s gnawing sting,

A silent suffering they bring.

Where learning fills the mind with lore,

But fails to touch the spirit’s core,

And progress bows to grasping greed,

Ignoring every human need,

The gentle art of kindness fades,

Lost in the rush of selfish trades.

The human heart, a tender bloom,

Is left to wither in the gloom.

The ancient texts with wisdom deep,

Of love that knows no bounds to keep,

Of caring for the frail and least,

A sacred duty, blessed priest.

But temples rise in gilded pride,

While broken streets stretch far and wide,

A stark reminder, plain to see,

That peace is priced too costly.

So let us build on firmer ground,

Where empathy and grace abound,

Not on the might of power’s hold,

Nor stories falsely bought and sold.

But in each heart, a gentle flame,

In every home, a whispered name

Of justice, walking hand-in-hand

With mercy, in this weary land.

When hands unite, and spirits blend,

A brighter dawn will then ascend.

For poverty’s a gaping void,

Where countless steps are left destroyed.

Each chance to lift, each helping hand

We fail to give across the land.

Until we share both sustenance,

And give each voice a consequence,

Until we break the chains of need,

There is no peace, no worthy creed,

No genuine choice, no solace true,

Until we make the world anew.