William Sinclair Manson

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My-Poetry / Writings · 3 December 2023

My Poetry. Is it ever a means to an end?

In shadows cast on fields of sorrow,
Where echoes linger of a bleak tomorrow.
A tale unfolds, of strife and pain,
In the heart of conflict, where hopes wane.

War, a relentless tempest’s roar,
Leaves scars on lands, forevermore.
Battles fought, with armor cold,
Yet, beneath it all, stories untold.

A symphony of anguish, drums of despair,
Soldiers’ whispers fill the air.
In the dance of death, they take their part,
A tragic ballet, a tortured art.

The sunsets weep in hues of red,
As if the sky itself has bled.
The moon, a witness to the cries,
Of shattered dreams beneath the skies.

Warriors march, their spirits shaken,
Dreams of peace, forever forsaken.
Flags may flutter in the wind,
Yet, the cost of war, where does it end?

Families torn, like pages in the wind,
The human cost, the hardest to rescind.
In every tear that silently falls,
A requiem for the forgotten walls.

But let us seek a different rhyme,
Where swords to plowshares mark the time.
In unity, the strength to find,
A world where peace is not confined.

For in the heart of every soul,
Lies the dream of a peaceful goal.
To mend the wounds, to heal the scar,
And let love triumph, beyond the war.

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