A tiny hand lies cold in mine,
Too small, too still, no longer thine.
A silent room, a broken toy,
Where echoes haunt of stolen joy.

No breath, no laugh, no sleepy sigh,
Just hollow air, and tear-stained eye.

A howl of anguish splits the night,
A wounded soul bereft of light.
A broken prayer, a fractured word,
The silence answers, nothing heard.

The world collapses to this form,
A raging sea, a silent storm.
My heart, a drum that beats and breaks,
For every promise it can’t make.

A cry to heaven, raw and wild,
The desperate voice of father, child.
A question flung to merciless skies:
Why must the innocent close their eyes?

A father’s scream, a primal sound,
Where love and grief are iron-bound.
A soul undone, a spirit cleft,
A war already lost… to death.