Those Things You Call A Poem

The World Could Be A Better Place

In the heart of shadows, I, a quiet soul,
Heard whispers, felt the call to console.
An ordinary person, keen on strife's art,
Seeking to kindle life, a modest start.

In the market's hum and shared cups of tea,
I glimpsed stories, silent to set free.
Not a hero, just an empathetic guide,
Through modest actions, compassion applied.

Neighbors gathered, in a haven's embrace,
A grassroots grace, a supportive space.
Potluck dinners and skills shared with grace,
Hands offering help, embraces to embrace.

Beneath stars and by the moon's soft glow,
I wove stories, letting empathy flow.
In tales of triumph, subtly entwined,
Universal themes of a compassionate mind.

Burdened by health and age,
The suggestion left them engaged.
Weekly walks in the park, a simple cure,
A remedy for hearts feeling unsure.

The skeptic questioned my aim,
"Stories won't change the world," they exclaimed.
With a smile, gentle and bright,
"It changes our world, brings hope into sight."

Through small acts, a ripple began,
Binding the community, a supportive clan.
Resources shared, burdens relieved,
In micro-actions, macro issues retrieved.

As a writer, my legacy, not grand or bold,
A poem of kindness subtly told.
In the heart of a town, shadows unfurl,
An ordinary person, changing the world.

Amidst the echoes of hope, a fragile flame,
In shadows where tales of kindness gently became.
Yet, as dusk descends, a transition profound,
Into a realm where hatred's whispers resound.

Neighbors once gathered in a haven of trust,
Hope's tapestry woven, in shared sorrows thrust.
Yet, beneath dim stars, a transformation near,
A darkened path where animosity leers.

In the depths of shadows, I, a silent soul,
Heard whispers, a call that echoed in the cold.
An ordinary being, navigating strife's cruel art,
Seeking to kindle life, a grim, reluctant start.

In the market's hum and shared cups of dread,
I glimpsed stories, silent cries for mercy left unsaid.
Not a hero, just a reluctant guide,
Through darkened actions, compassion forced to hide.

Dreadful gatherings, in a haven stained with fear,
A grassroots plea, soaked in every tear.
Injudicious sentences and punishment embraced,
In a twisted dance where justice was defaced.

Beneath dim stars and a flickering torch's glow,
I wove stories, narratives of woe.
In tales of torment, subtly entwined,
Universal themes of a broken, tortured mind.

Burdened by guilt and societal rage,
My suggestion left them trapped in a cage.
Weekly walks to the gallows, a macabre cure,
A twisted remedy, for hearts never sure.

The skeptic questioned my aim,
"Your kind of justice won't change how things are," they exclaimed.
With a smile, haunted and bleak,
"It changes our world, leaves a scar that speaks."

As a writer, my legacy questioned and cold,
A poem of horror, a tale retold.
In the heart of a town, shadows unfurl,
An ordinary being, changing the world in a blood-stained swirl.

As fate's curtain falls, two paths unfold,
One weaves kindness, a story to be told.
The other, in shadows, a blood-soaked plea,
A tragic duet in the world's symphony.

In the grand finale, where hopes collide,
Kindness persists, a beacon to guide.
Yet, in the shadows, a crimson cascade,
Two wishes wrestle, in a world betrayed.

"The world could be a better place," they sighed,
One with kindness, the other with bloodied stride.
A cosmic struggle, a dichotomy stark,
In the battle of wishes, where shadows embark.

Kindness, a whisper, a gentle caress,
Bridging divides in a world's distress.
But in the shadows, where echoes remain,
A darker wish festers, a relentless bane.

As dreams collide in this cosmic space,
One with a smile, one with a hardened face.
"The world could be a better place," they yearned,
In choices made, the destiny earned.

The writer's pen weaves tales untold,
In the symphony of contrasts, a narrative unfolds.
In the heart's turmoil, where light grayed and shadows blurred,
Ordinary beings, hoping to change the world.