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Beneath the sunlit dome of sky,
Where whispers of winds and rivers sigh,
Lies a shadow, a wound unhealed,
The truth of mankind, long concealed.

We stand, architects of dreams and light,
Yet builders, too, of endless night.
The seeds of cruelty in our hands,
We plant them deep in foreign lands.

The pages of history bleed and stain,
With tales of greed, and chains, and pain.
Empires rise on broken backs,
Marching to drums of brutal acts.

The markets hum with cries and moans,
As flesh is weighed and sold as stones.
Eyes that once held fire and spark,
Turn hollow under the branding mark.

Beneath the banner of peace and faith,
The sword has sung, the earth laid waste.
Crusades in robes of holy white,
Left crimson trails in the dead of night.

Children wept in forests burned,
As fathers fell, their fates discerned.
Mothers wailed in fields of dust,
Their dreams consumed by the fires of lust.

The factories roar, their chimneys high,
Their smoke a shroud across the sky.
For profit’s gain, we poison seas,
The forests fall, their cries in breeze.

We’ve danced on ashes, danced on graves,
Made monuments to those enslaved.
We call it progress, call it might,
Yet blot the stars from heaven’s sight.

Oh, man of science, man of art,
With genius mind and savage heart,
You’ve crafted tools to heal the frail,
And turned them into weapons’ scale.

The ghettos speak, the gulags groan,
The camps of death, where seeds were sown.
Auschwitz, Rwanda, the Killing Fields—
The bitter harvest mankind yields.

We write our books, we tell our tales,
Of monsters hiding behind veils.
Yet glance into the mirror deep,
And see the beast that does not sleep.

For evil is no specter gray,
It wears our faces, walks our way.
A quiet word, a single shove,
The death of empathy, of love.

And yet, amidst the choking smoke,
A single flame, a whispered hope.
For in our darkest, foulest hour,
Some rise against the grasp of power.

The hand that strikes can also mend,
The heart that hates can learn to bend.
Though stained with blood, the soil can yield,
A brighter bloom, a greener field.

But first, we must the mirror face,
And name the shadow in its place.
For only then can light take root,
And heal the tree that bears such fruit.

So let us walk, with eyes unblind,
And seek the better part of mind.
For though the truth may tear and scar,
It lights the way to who we are.
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