But behind the atrocities of war
is a promise that was not fulfilled—
a whispered oath, a gilded lie,
left to wither where blood was spilled.
They spoke of peace with tongues of fire,
pledged the dawn yet fed the night.
Marched the young to fields of pyres,
turned their dreams to smoke and blight.
A mother's hands, now empty, tremble,
a kingdom built on shattered vows.
The past still lingers, cold, disheveled,
etched in graves and furrowed brows.
The cannons sleep, the banners fall,
yet silence bears the heaviest weight.
For what was promised—meant for all—
now lingers only as regret too late
©oberon
O