Beneath the obsidian sun
The sun once spun gold in my hair.
Now dust hangs heavy; the truth is a snare.
Each breath a rasp, a whispered lie,
War's canvas painted a crimson sky.
A doll's stare, vacant, wide,
Speeches of innocence are cast aside.
Tattered flags, slogans cold,
A nation's pride, a now sold.
Maps, lines like scars across the land,
Drawn not with ink but with bloody hands.
Whispers, once shadows in the night,
Now scream the truth—a blinding light.
Faces haunt, memories burn,
Generals' lies, merchants' churn.
soldier's eyes, wells of despair,
Echoes of lives beyond repair.
A bird's lonely cry, a mournful song,
For shattered dreams where they belong.
But embers stir, defiance bold,
This truth won't die in silence.
War's shadow fades, yet battles bloom.
To sow new seeds in fertile gloom.
Heart heavy, eyes still hold the spark,
To mend the world, leave the shadows dark.
The lie is a sword; my mouth is my shield.
Against the lies, the truth is revealed.
No longer victim, voice unbound,
This
story's mine, in the sovereign's will.
stagnantwaters · Fantasia
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