When hope fades with the night, only your mask remains.

Your footsteps linger on the walls of abandoned homes.

Each strike resists the catastrophe creeping closer.

Flames light their faces, but never burn away the fear.

Soldiers march, yet their eyes whisper the truth.

Behind silence, there are cries no wood can contain.

A single lantern traces fragile hope in the dark.

The doctor’s ink dries on the page like stone.

Among burned houses, a memory still smolders.

Wings circling above carry the village’s grief.

Each breath foretells a heavier end.