The dust settles, a temporary shroud,
over broken pieces, whispered, not aloud.
A silence hangs, a moment held in sway,
before the rising of a brand new day.
A stillness swings, thick and heavy, a held breath,
not the end's still but a pause before death,
or birth, perhaps, a struggle to arise,
from ashes scattered beneath wounded skies.
They think it's over,...
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