War-torn Heart

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Beneath our stunning and boundless sky, where the wind roams seemingly so care-free, my heart trembles—not for me, but for all the souls scattered across this war-torn earth. I can not help but love them all—the quiet faces, the dreaming eyes, the hands that build and break, that cradle and destroy. For in each, I see a flicker of something shared: a whisper of some ancient kinship, as though we are all but fragments of a shared being, bound by an ancient, unspoken design.

Yet, how bitter it is, how cruel, to watch how the world is being torn apart. Oh, the agony of distant lands, where brothers rise against brothers, where the rivers run blood red, and the soil swallows the weight of uncomprehensible grief. My heart aches for the sorrow of their bloodshed, for the cries lost within winds that carry nothing but ash and heartbreak.

How is it that we, who share the same earth, are able to mindlessly strike one another with such hate? How can the stars above shine on fields of ruin, their light falling upon broken homes and shattered dreams?

I long for the day when peace will fall over us like a soft rain upon this weary earth, cleansing it of its pain. Until then, my love stretches like the night, aching, yearning—for every soul who suffers, for every heart that beats beneath the war-torn sky.

In every face, I see a brother, a sister, a beloved relative. And so my heart, though hopeful, is forever bruised, forever torn, as it loves even those who continually choose to wage war, irrevocably wounding the soul of humanity.

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