[POEM] Doves

Beneath a sky once painted blue, Where doves in peaceful flocks once flew, A steel-bound tide crept, And turned the day to night’s cold stride.

The doves above, they spiraled high, Their wings beats like whispers on the sky, Yet every beat, a mournful cry, For man again would choose to die.

Through verdant fields now stained in red, The voices rise of countless dead. A symphony of blood and pain, Rehearsed in cycles, time and again.

Oh, doves, you saw the swords first drawn, The cannon roared to chase the dawn. You fled as men embraced the flame, And etched the earth with endless shame.

The air grew thick with smoke and tears, The harvest reaped: a crop of fears. Yet doves above, you would not stay, To see the cost of man’s dismay.

Your wings once pure, now streaked with ash, Above the ruins, cities crash. For mankind’s thirst, no end, no peace, No rest, no truce, no war’s release.

And so you fly, toward distant light, Beyond the bounds of endless fight. Oh, doves, escape this cursed ground, Where hate and war forever sound.