We build our cities brick by brick, then tear them down with politics. We name our children, teach them songs, then send them off to right our wrongs. The generals sleep in quiet beds while mothers count their honored dead. The flags still wave, the anthems play — but no one wins when men decay. Peace is not the space between the wars we fight and those unseen. It's chosen, forged, and held up high by those who'd rather live than die. So beat your swords to something true, let fields grow green where armies flew. The bravest thing a soul can do is look at war — and say: we're through.