They say that love’s a gentle flame,
A light that never dies.
But sometimes love will whisper lies,
And hide behind goodbyes.

It starts so soft, a sweet delight,
A glance, a touch, a spark—
But slowly turns to sleepless nights,
And hearts left in the dark.

You give your soul, you bare your chest,
You dream with eyes wide shut.
But love can take and never rest,
And leave your spirit cut.

The laughter fades, the silence grows,
You feel you're not enough.
And every word, once wrapped in rose,
Now sounds so sharp and rough.

You miss them when they're standing near,
You cry with no real cause.
You smile while drowning in your fear,
And ache without a pause.

Love isn’t always soft and kind,
It breaks, it bleeds, it bends.
It digs its roots into your mind,
Then leaves you in the end.

So yes, love shines, but it can burn—
And turn your skies to gray.
A gift, a curse, a twist, a turn—
That sometimes steals the day.

Beneath the dawn of a summer sky,
Where children laughed and kites would fly,
A sudden flash, a blinding light,
Turned day to dark, and wrong from right.

In Hiroshima's gentle fold,
The air grew hot, the silence cold.
A fire fell from heaven’s gate,
And stitched the thread of human fate.

Steel and flame consumed the air,
As shadows burned to walls laid bare.
The rivers wept, the mountains sighed,
And countless dreams in silence died.

Then Nagasaki met the same,
Another spark, another flame.
The morning bloomed with death again—
A flower forged in endless pain.

But from the ash and twisted steel,
The world was forced at last to feel—
Not just the might that man could wield,
But hearts that broke and wounds unhealed.

So hear the whispers of the land,
The ghosts that reach with outstretched hand.
"Let not our fate be born anew,
In flames that fall from skies so blue."

May peace not be a fragile thread,
Stitched only when too much is dead.
But rather grown in every heart—
A vow that never shall depart.

I speak, but all the walls stay still,
Your voice is gone, yet haunts me still.
The chair you used to sit in creaks—
A ghost of you in every squeak.

The air is thick, the light feels thin,
The world moved on, but I stayed in.
I fold the sheets you used to touch,
And cry for things I miss too much.

Your name is just a silent word,
A fading note I barely heard.
They say the heart will learn to mend,
But grief is not the kindest friend.

I walk past places where you smiled,
And feel again that aching child.
One moment more, that’s all I plead,
But time gives nothing that I need.

So here I sit, and here I'll stay—
A soul too tired to find its way.
Not gone, not whole, just barely stood—
A shadow left in where you stood.

Smoke rolls in like mourning veils,
Darkening skies with ashen tales,
Chimneys weep their final breath—
A lullaby composed by death.

The steeple cracks, its bell unswung,
No choir left to sing the young.
Shutters blink with embered eyes,
As silence swallows fleeing cries.

The cobbled streets, once full of cheer,
Now echo steps of smoke and fear.
Shadows dance in orange bloom,
Choking life in every room.

A cradle scorched, a picture charred,
A garden turned to blackened yard.
Hope melts down in rivulets,
Carried where the flame forgets.

Yet through the ash, a whisper stirs—
A child’s hand, the past recurs.
For even towns that blaze and fall
Leave ghost-lights glowing in their call.

The burning town may fade from maps,
But hearts still beat in fire’s gaps.
And from the soot, if skies allow,
A phoenix dreams—rebirth, somehow.

In silence vast, where nothing stirred,
No breath, no flame, no voice was heard—
The void lay still, a sleeping sea,
Until the birth of energy.

A spark ignites—a blinding start,
From chaos, stars are torn apart.
In stellar wombs, the elements born,
From fire, from ice, from cosmic storm.

The galaxies in spiral dance,
By gravity and fate’s romance.
A pale blue dot begins to spin,
And life’s long tale is tucked within.

The oceans swell with primal heat,
Where lightning's kiss and chemicals meet.
In shadowed pools, life lifts its head,
A single cell that stirs the dead.

Through ages slow, the world takes shape,
From fins to wings, from ape to ape.
The forests rise, the deserts spread,
The ice retreats, then comes again.

With fire and tools, the humans rise,
They shape the world, they reach the skies.
They carve in stone, they write in light,
They dream in code, they launch the night.

But with each step, the question grows—
From where we came, and where we go?
The stars still burn, the oceans call,
And time still watches over all.

So here we stand, both beast and sage,
A fleeting spark on nature’s stage.
The world evolved, and so must we—
To guard, to grow, to let life be.

In quiet grace, she walks the land,
With strength as soft as silken sand.
A heart of gold, a will of flame,
The stars themselves recall her name.

Mitsuki — morning's gentle hue,
A soul forever strong and true.
With eyes that see through storm and strife,
She threads her love through every life.

She speaks, and winds begin to still,
She dreams, and mountains bend to will.
The world, it leans to hear her song,
A melody both fierce and long.

She builds, she heals, she lifts, she leads,
A sower of the quiet seeds
That bloom in hearts too bruised to grow —
Yet through her care, they start to glow.

Not born to rule, yet still a queen,
In every act, so bold, serene.
No crown of gold, no throne of stone —
Her power lies in love alone.

O Mitsuki, your name shall stay
In whispered winds and break of day.
A woman vast as sky and sea —
A mirror of what we hope to be.

In the quiet of a nursery, where stuffed bears sleep on shelves,
Where bedtime stories whisper dreams, not shadows of themselves,
A child begins their journey pure, with laughter light and free,
A tender soul, unweathered still, like shells beside the sea.

Their world is built of wonder, skies of crayon-colored blue,
Where monsters hide beneath the bed, not walk in human shoes.
A screen lights up—a harmless thing—its glow so soft, so bright,
It hums a song of lullabies, but hides a darker light.

A stranger sends a message in a game the child adores,
They speak in tones of kindness first, with compliments and lures.
"You're special," "smart," "so talented,"—the hook begins to thread,
And innocence, once shielded well, begins to tilt instead.

The child, still so trusting, sees no harm in kind replies,
But grooming wears a mask so well, with candy-coated lies.
A slow erosion, bit by bit, of safety, truth, and will,
Until the child starts keeping secrets, silent, cold, and still.

And in another home somewhere, a different war begins,
Not fought with chains or rifles loud, but pixels, screens, and sins.
A curious hand clicks on a link they shouldn't understand,
And what they see will fracture things they barely can withstand.

The colors flash, the bodies twist, the moans like wounded cries,
And though they cannot name it yet, something inside them dies.
The shock, the thrill, the guilt, the shame—confusing, raw, and vast,
And what was once just innocence is now a shattered past.

They search again. And then again. The algorithm knows.
The dopamine, like poison rain, begins its rhythmic flows.
Before the child has reached thirteen, addiction starts to grow—
To images that rewire thoughts and twist the heart below.

They cannot focus, cannot sleep, feel hollow in their skin,
A hunger born not of the flesh, but of a loss within.
Their smile is dimmer, eyes more tired, attention spans grown thin,
They chase illusions on a screen, not dreams they once had been.

And who will see the silent cries, the ache behind their eyes?
When parents call it "normal stuff," and truth wears no disguise?
The world has made its playground wide—no fences to defend—
And wolves now lurk in glowing dens that never seem to end.

Yet still there is a flicker left, a candle faintly lit,
A voice that whispers, "You are more," though buried in the grit.
For innocence may fall to dust, but healing still can rise,
If hands reach out, and hearts remain, and truth cuts through the lies.

Let parents speak and teachers guard, let filters hold the gate,
Let children know that they're not wrong for what was made by fate.
Let shame not grow in hidden rooms, nor silence feed the flame,
But rather, let compassion burn and call out each vile name.

For innocence is not just lost—it’s stolen, piece by piece,
By those who prey on trust and youth, and never grant release.
But with enough love, light, and truth, what’s taken can be mourned,
And from the ashes of deceit, a better soul reborn.

So guard the screens, and guard the hearts, and teach the eyes to see—
That childhood is a sacred thing, not meant for casualty.
And if one child can still believe, can still be kept from harm,
Then every verse, and every fight, has power in its arm.

They never held a soldier’s gun,
Nor marched beneath a dying sun.
They only wished for toys and dreams,
Not blood-soaked dust and shattered screams.

They built small castles in the sand,
Drew stars and suns with tender hand.
They chased the wind, they laughed and ran—
Too young to know the schemes of man.

But thunder came from man-made skies,
And fire fell before their eyes.
The lullabies were drowned in fear,
Their nightlight now a burning tear.

No cause they knew, no flags, no pride,
Just fear that wouldn't run or hide.
The world around them broke apart,
While hope lay bleeding at their heart.

A doll was crushed beneath a wall,
A ball lay still in crumbled hall.
Small fingers reached through smoke and flame,
But never found someone to name.

What sin had they? What lines they crossed?
What crime was worth a life so lost?
What justice lies in battle’s wake,
When innocence is what we break?

They are not soldiers, not the foe—
Just eyes too bright for death to know.
Just voices lost in foreign lands,
While silence slips through broken hands.

O world, how cold your heart has grown,
To watch them die and turn to stone.
To count their deaths as “collateral,”
And never hear their final call.

The sand will never hold their prints,
The trees won’t hear their whispered hints.
The schoolyard swings sway in the breeze,
Unburdened now by laughing knees.

Yet still we fight, and still we claim
That war is just—a noble flame.
But what is just in death so small,
In children crushed beneath it all?

Let every leader speak their lie,
But let them look a child and try
To justify a burning town,
A tiny hand, face turned face-down.

Their blood writes poems in the street,
Where verses end beneath our feet.
And we, who live, must bear the cost—
For every child the world has lost.

In the quiet dawn, friendship blooms anew,  
A spark of trust, a bond so true.  
Yet, shadows lurk behind bright eyes,  
A whispered word, a subtle lie.  

Like autumn leaves, it falls so fast,  
A fleeting moment, gone at last.  
What once was woven tight and strong,  
Can unravel in a silent song.  

A single breath, a careless deed,  
Can plant the seeds of silent creed.  
And in the blink of an eye,  
Friendship fades, a soft goodbye.  

Hold tight, for wounds can heal or sever,  
Friendships fragile, lost forever.  
Cherish the moments, hold them near—  
For fast they fade, and disappear.

They told me the high would set me free,
A spark, a thrill, a better me.
A pill for pain, a puff for peace,
A little break, a small release.

They dressed it up in silver lies,
With stars behind their glassy eyes.
“It helps you cope, it makes you bold—
Just try it once, don’t be so cold.”

So I did.

And the sky bent down.
And the world spun soft, without a sound.
I laughed too loud, I cried too slow,
And thought I'd found a secret glow.

But oh—
How quickly that light can fade,
When you're caught in the trap that the devil laid.
What starts as choice becomes a chain,
What once brought joy now only pain.

I needed more to feel the same,
Each hit a match, each breath a flame.
But fire feeds, and fire steals—
Until it burns the way one feels.

My hands once built, now only shake.
My voice, once strong, began to break.
I lied. I stole. I disappeared.
The ones I loved grew cold, then feared.

And yet—I stayed.
Even as my body frayed.
Even as my dreams turned black.
Even when there was no turning back.

Drugs don’t knock.
They crash, they crawl.
They don’t ask nicely
Before they take it all.

They don’t care if you're smart or kind.
They only want your soul, your mind.
They turn your life into a bet—
And every single time, you’ll lose the debt.

You’ll trade your name for nicknames whispered,
Your laughter for a wheeze and blister.
You’ll give away your time, your youth—
Until you’ve lost the strength for truth.

But listen...

There is a way.
There’s still a dawn beyond this gray.
It starts with no. It starts with light.
It starts with walking from the night.

So if you stand where I once stood—
Tempted, aching, misunderstood—
Remember this:
No high is worth your flame.
No thrill is worth a life in shame.

You are more than smoke and pills.
You are not your darkest chills.
Your life is gold. Your breath is rare.
And someone, somewhere, deeply cares.

Choose to rise.
Choose to fight.
Choose your soul.
Choose the light.

It started not with blood and flame,
But whispers passed in power’s name.
A line was drawn upon the land,
Then came the gun, the sword, the hand.
A fuse was lit beneath the skies,
By suits in rooms with shadowed eyes.

The youth were called with dreams still warm,
To fight the tide, to face the storm.
They kissed their homes, their sweethearts' hair,
And marched to lands they’d never care
To know in peace — only in strife,
Where death would barter soul for life.

Steel rain fell where poppies grew,
And turned the fields to crimson hue.
The mud consumed both horse and man,
And time stood still beneath the span
Of shattered trees and smoking wire —
A world remade by man-made fire.

The cities groaned, the skies turned black,
And none could dream of turning back.
Factories roared with sleepless breath,
Mothers stitched the cloth of death.
Children learned to hide and run
Before they ever saw the sun.

The sea was red, the air was flame,
And all the maps were not the same.
Old empires crumbled into dust,
Their banners soaked with rot and rust.
But even victors bore a cost —
No side could count the lives they lost.

And yet, amid the cannon's cry,
Where angels feared to watch or fly,
A soldier shared his crust of bread
With one who moments prior had bled
To take his life — the bitter proof
That hate breaks down beneath the roof
Of shared despair, of human pain —
And peace can bloom in war’s own rain.

The medics bent with trembling grace
To heal the wounds war can’t erase.
The chaplain prayed, the wounded swore,
The poets wrote from under floor
Of trenches deep and tunnels black,
And dreamed of one day coming back.

But not all do. The nameless graves
Lie silent near the ocean’s waves.
The dogs still bark where soldiers fell,
And trees remember shot and shell.
Their roots grow through the iron waste,
Through helmets left in hasty haste.

Now decades on, the drums are still,
But shadows walk the highest hill.
And when the wind moves just so light,
We hear the ghosts who chose to fight —
Not for the glory, nor the gain,
But just to end a deeper pain.

The war does not die with the guns,
It lingers on in daughters, sons.
In empty chairs, in shattered glass,
In stories grandmothers may pass.
In dreams of those who wear the scars,
And wake to march through mental wars.

Remember this, you heirs of peace:
The cost of pride does not decrease.
And if you must take up the blade,
Then do so knowing what is paid.
The war may sleep, but not forget —
And we are in its shadow yet.

I woke to rooms where voices slept,
No laughter left where joy once wept.
The chairs still stood, the shoes were lined,
But all the souls, they’d left behind.

A stillness deeper than the grave,
A silence I could never brave.
Their shadows clung to walls and doors,
Like echoes on forgotten shores.

I called their names, the air stood still,
The grief, a ghost I couldn’t ****.
Their cups untouched, their beds not made,
The sun rose slow, then quickly faded.

How strange the world, to keep on turning,
While every part of me is burning.
The air too full of things unsaid,
The weight of all the living dead.

No final word, no last goodbye,
Just sudden space beneath the sky.
And in this house, both full and hollow,
I learn that grief is mine to swallow.

But even now, their love remains—
In photographs, in dreams, in rain.
They left, but I still see them near,
In memory sharp, in every tear.

Beyond the veil of worldly pain, Where hearts no longer break in vain, There lies a land so pure, so wide— Where joy and peace forever bide.  No sorrow there, no aching soul, No time that strips or age that stole. Just gardens green with endless shade, Where every longing’s gently laid.  The rivers flow with milk and wine, As pure as pearls in perfect line. Sweet scents arise from musk and rose, In breezes soft where mercy blows.  The trees bend low with fruit so near, No toil, no grief, no cry, no fear. And every step, a light, a song, Where angels welcome all along.  No night shall fall, no sun shall burn, Just radiant peace at every turn. With robes of silk and cups of gold, And stories of the truth retold.  The faces shine with joy so bright, Reflected in the Throne’s own light. And best of all, above all bliss— The gaze upon the One we miss.  To see the Lord, the Most Divine, No veil, no barrier, no sign. Just closeness deep, a love so wide— Forever near, with none to hide.  So strive today with heart and prayer, With patient soul and humble care. For what awaits is worth the pain— A home where none shall weep again.