Whispers From The Past

As the sun dips below the horizon, painting the skies crimson, I find respite in the fading light, a brief reprieve from the whispers that haunt my mind. Out here, among the swaying wheat, I can almost forget the horrors of those godforsaken trenches, but the memories claw at me, insistent, merciless. It's here, beneath the stars, where I often feel closest to my brothers, their spirits watching over us, urging me forward.

Sanford's presence anchors me to the present, her gentle touch a balm against the storm brewing within. Together, we sow the seeds of our new life, hoping to build a brighter future while honoring the ones we've lost. But the shadows lurk, waiting to consume me, and each night, I fight to keep them at bay, writing down the stories of my fallen kin, lest their sacrifice be forgotten.

Though the war may be over, the scars run deep, both seen and unseen. The tremble in my hands, the flashbacks, the guilt – they refuse to disappear. I long for the simplicity of farming, the rhythm of the earth, but the demons persist, mocking me with their taunts. Perhaps, one day, the pain will subside, and I'll find the peace I crave, but for now, I'll carry on, driven by the vow I made, to ensure their legacy thrives.

For I know, in the depths of my soul, that their voices whisper not just to me, but to the world. Their pleas for sanity, for understanding, resonate across time, imploring us to learn from their misery, to break the cycle of violence. With each word I commit to paper, I pray, I'll bring them closer to rest, and steer mankind toward a more compassionate path.