The Harvest of Conflict

            The Harvest of Conflict

In silence born of thunder's dying roar,
Peace walks the fields where battle's fury ceased,
Her gentle hands tend wounds that weapons tore,
While memories of war grant no release.

The sword that carved division's bloody line
Now rusts beneath the olive branch's shade,
Yet scars remain in earth and heart and mind—
War's legacy that time cannot evade.

For peace is not war's opposite alone,
But child of conflict, wisdom born of pain,
The harvest of the bitter seeds we've sown,
Hard-won from loss, not freely given gain.

So war begets the peace we hold most dear—
Through darkness learned, we guard the light we fear.