They never knew the names of the steel,
The sharp, the loud, the breaking of the seal
That brought their games to sudden, silent end,
Where bullets soared, but not to mend.

In schoolyards bright, where laughter grew,
They danced in shoes still shiny, new.
No talk of wars or men with steel hearts cold,
Just chalk on pavement, dreams untold.

But far above, where shadows plot and scheme,
The men of iron cannot dream.
They speak in tongues of fury and disdain,
While children fall, unseen, in pain.

For what is peace, to those who crave the fight?
Who trade in blood and steal the light?
They never learned to build with tender hands
Only to destroy with violent commands.

And so the young, with eyes still soft and wide,
Are swept away in hatred’s tide.
Their tiny hands, once warm with life,
Now cold from strangers’ endless strife.

Oh, weep, for they knew nothing of the hate,
That shaped the weapon, sealed their fate.
They only sought to live, to grow, to play
But the men of steel tore that away.

And in the quiet after guns have ceased,
When whispers of the lost are least,
Remember those who never learned to fight
The innocent, who burned too bright.

For until the men of war lay down their pride,
And learn that peace begins inside,
The children’s laughter, stilled and done,
Will haunt the hearts of everyone.

JH