You have history to pen down for centuries to come…
Each breath foretells a heavier end.
Wings circling above carry the village’s grief.
Among burned houses, a memory still smolders.
The doctor’s ink dries on the page like stone.
A single lantern traces fragile hope in the dark.
Behind silence, there are cries no wood can contain.
Soldiers march, yet their eyes whisper the truth.
Flames light their faces, but never burn away the fear.
Each strike resists the catastrophe creeping closer.
Your footsteps linger on the walls of abandoned homes.
When hope fades with the night, only your mask remains.
