Smoke curls over shattered
walls,
the sky bruised in shades of
sorrow,
yet beneath the rubble,
a flower presses through stone,
tiny and defiant.
Gunfire writes its harsh rhythm,
shattering windows and
hearts alike,
but in quiet corners,
laughter spills like warm tea,
soft as unbroken promises.
Soldiers march with boots of
thunder,
and children trace chalk rivers on
cracked streets,
their songs ripple across
trenches,
a fragile bridge over molten
hatred.
War rages with all its teeth,
but peace waits in the spaces
in between,
in hands clasped,
in eyes meeting across ruined fields,
in stubborn pulses of hope.
The Sensual Soul Poet, by Heather Mirassou
A personal blog sharing heartfelt poetry inspired by sensuality, love, nature, beauty, and soulful reflection.
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