A Foggy Dawn of Lost Innocence

The morning wakes in misty shrouds,

A ghostly veil, thick as clouds.

The sun's embrace—a muted glow,

While distant hounds begin to growl.

Yet, tell me, is there nothing left?

Why must children plunge to depths—

Bound by chains they did not choose,

Their innocence, a price to lose?

Where are dolls with golden curls?

Must demons dance and spin their twirls?

Where are books with tales untold?

Will fables rot, left in the cold?

Hopeful eyes, now dimmed and dry,

Soft hands reaching toward the sky.

Was this not their destined art—

A childhood pure, a fearless heart?

Yet here they toil, so small, so frail,

Their laughter drowned in sorrow's tale.

Tiny palms, bruised and worn,

Crushed beneath the weight they've borne.

They whisper, plead—"Can you not see?

Why does no one set us free?"

If we turn and walk away,

What will remain of us one day?

For each dark deed, a shadow grows,

Tomorrow reaps what today sows.

Should we ignore their silent pain,

The storm will rage—our loss, our shame.

So halt this curse, this cruel despair!

Children should dream, not learn to bear

A world too callous, cold, unkind—

Or we shall grieve for all mankind.