The heart of a battlefield,
Where echoes of the past stand still,
A broken clock, shattered in two,
Marks the time for those who knew.

Its hands are frozen, lost in strife,
Like the souls who gave their lives,
Caught in moments of despair,
Trapped in war’s eternal snare.

Each tick, a whisper of the pain,
Each tock, a tear in endless rain,
The clock, a mirror of their plight,
Shadows cast in endless nights.

No forward march, no turning back,
Their hearts ensnared, their spirits wracked,
In silent screams, their memories bind,
Wounds of war, forever confined.

Bio-warfare’s silent death,
Steals away life’s final breath,
Invisible, yet oh so near,
Marking time in toxic fear.

Chemical clouds, they choke and burn,
Hope to ash and love to urn,
Time stands still in poison’s grip,
Lives cut short, dreams that slip.

The broken clock, its face so scarred,
Bears the weight of lives unmarred,
By time that heals, but here does not,
In this place where peace forgot.

Each crack, a story left untold,
Of bravery, of love, of cold,
Of battles fought, of lives undone,
Under a never-setting sun.

Atomic blasts, the sky aflame,
Cities vanish, none to name,
The clock, it shudders from the blast,
Frozen in a fateful past.

Weapon deals in shadowed rooms,
Doomsday’s ticking, silent dooms,
Diplomatic wars, deceitful ties,
Time corrodes with whispered lies.

The clock stands still, but time moves on,
Yet those who fell are never gone,
In broken glass, their faces gleam,
Forever part of war’s dark dream.

Their cries for help, their whispered pleas,
Haunt the silence, ride the breeze,
In this realm where sorrow thrives,
The broken clock marks broken lives.

The hands, now rusted, cannot mend,
No solace, no sweet bitter end,
In tragic chorus, echoes weep,
For those in war’s cold grasp, asleep.

Never forget the price,
Of war’s relentless sacrifice,
For in the broken clock, we see,
The ghosts of time and agony.

.    .    .