Roadside Requiem 

Along the roadside, dreams lie shattered, Tents destroyed, lives

scattered. Occupation's bombs have torn the air, Leaving canvas ghosts

and dark despair.

Debris of wood and twisted steel, A landscape surreal, too raw to heal.

In crimson pools, broken forms lie still, Silent witnesses on this gory hill.

A man face down in scarlet spread, Life's essence fled, gray matter

shed. Another soul, limbs pretzel-bound, A grotesque sculpture on

bloodied ground.

Sand cradles a fragment of being, A severed head, past horror seeing.

Mustached lips, forever parted wide, An eternal roar where silence

hides.

In tattered shade, a tiny form, Too young to weather this cruel storm.

Eyes closed in eternal repose, Innocence lost as chaos grows.

Broken bodies, stories untold, In war's embrace, forever cold. This

roadside scene, a grim tableau, Of humanity's darkest, lowest low.

Canvas whispers and metal screams, Echo the death of countless

dreams. In aftermath's silent, solemn hour, We witness destruction's

awful power.