The Diplomat's Lament

I speak in circles, words like glass,

Fragile truths I dare not pass.

Between the cracks of hope and fear,

I offer calm, but no one hears.

 

The ink runs dry before the pact,

Promises made, but hearts retract.

A handshake given, worlds apart,

I trade in peace, but war restarts.

 

I watch the faces, worn and cold,

Tired eyes that once were bold.

In halls of marble, silence reigns,

While outside echoes grief and pain.

 

I’ve bartered lives and sold the sun,

For fleeting peace that comes undone.

The nations tremble, restless still,

And yet I speak, against my will.

 

What power has the weight of words,

When cannons roar and swords stirred?

I sow goodwill in soil of stone,

A fragile hope I call my own.

 

And when the tables clear at last,

The future’s buried with the past.

I carry home the ash and dust—

A diplomat, in whom they trust.

 

Yet trust is thin as paper’s edge,

And peace, a distant, fragile pledge.

I mourn the silence I can't keep,

I mourn the silence I can't keep…