History of Sorts

Raise not the sword, nor light the fire,
That feeds on rage and blind desire.
The earth has borne too much of pain,
Its soil still soaked with crimson stain.

Let not the cries of children fall,
On deafened hearts, behind cold walls.
War crimes are written in the ash,
Of lives undone by thunder’s clash.

No home should burn, no fields decay,
No laughter stolen, swept away.
For every stone, for every tree,
Deserves to stand in dignity.

Do not begin what has no end,
The war that swallows foe and friend.
A single spark can scorch the skies,
And silence countless tender lives.

So choose the road where mercy grows,
Where hands reach out instead of blows.
Let peace prevail, let justice guide,
And keep the flame of hope alive.