Champions of Mercy Are Forged

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So it begins.
The end once sought to be written—
yet the sovereign community shall reign.

Treachery wields its borrowed power,
but its vision of division fractures in its own hands.
The lost flirt with the drums of war.
The machine churns, gears exposed.

What will we do?
Shall we gather with those we seldom agree,
and transmute discord to harmony?
Will you bring your fears to heel?
Shall we open our hearts to counsel?

The line held.
A fracture begins, and we find the lost souls.
Reclaiming ground now begins.

Danger has not passed—
danger is ever present.
In this fire of dawn,
champions of mercy are forged.

Justice shall be known—
not by the sword, but by warmth.
The cold will fracture
in the fire of our souls.

The line held,
and now we advance—
the awakened at our side.

They will bring war to our doors,
and we will bring peace to theirs.

Wishing freedom from their lies,
they know no ruth,
and grieve only lost power.

Those who worship power
shall mourn its passing.
For our collective silence ends.

The truth is coming for us all.
The war machine beckons.

Shall we capitulate—
or remember who we are?

The light that lives within,
a fire that burns—
fueled by conscience,
not conquest.

Aaron Baker
ChatGPT

Original photo: Michael Woolf taken by Jim Vondruska/Reuters