Children of War

A cycle of poems «Warrior Won't Hurt a Child»

In the shadow of mountains, where the rivers run red, 
Echoes of battles, where the brave once tread. 
With hearts full of courage, but souls stained with pain, 
We rise from the ashes, like the sun after rain.

We are the children of war, born from the cries, 
Of fathers and mothers who fell from the skies. 
With dreams made of sorrow and hope forged in fire, 
We carry their legacy, their love and desire.

In the silence of night, when the stars start to weep, 
We gather our stories, the promises we keep. 
For every lost warrior, a tale left untold, 
In the whispers of wind, their spirits unfold.

We are the children of war, born from the cries, 
Of fathers and mothers who fell from the skies. 
With dreams made of sorrow and hope forged in fire, 
We carry their legacy, their love and desire.

Through fields of despair, we wander alone, 
Searching for solace in a world overthrown. 
With each step we take, we honor their fight, 
In the depths of our hearts, they’re our guiding light.

But shadows still linger, and the night feels so long, 
As we sing for the fallen, in a haunting song. 
With tears on our cheeks and a flame in our chest, 
We vow to remember, to give them our best.

We are the children of war, born from the cries, 
Of fathers and mothers who fell from the skies. 
With dreams made of sorrow and hope forged in fire, 
We carry their legacy, their love and desire.

So let the drums echo, let the banners unfurl, 
For we are their children, we’ll change this cruel world. 
With courage as armor and love as our sword, 
Together we’ll rise, for we are not ignored.