The Son of Life and Death

He is the son of Life and Death—
His mother, with her sunlit breath,
Whispers, "Heal, bring warmth to the lost."
His father says, voice deep as the night,
"Stand firm and fight, no matter the cost."
Life moulds him with gentle hands,
Spinning art and joy from grace.
Death shapes him through sacrifice,
A worthy heir to a noble line,
Together, they forge him,
A heart bearing the weight of his parentage.

Among the humans, he walks—
A rain to sprout seedlings green,
In fields sown with dreams, unseen.
While his comrades keep him company
With talks about their ambitions and beliefs.
One dreamed of baking bread by the shore,
The scent of flour and salt rising with the tide.
Another longed to run through green fields,
Feet light as a river’s song.
The girl beside him, always gazing upwards,
Swore to climb the tallest mountain
Just to feel the sky in her bones.

Then the monsters came,
Tearing through their hopes,
Poisoning dreams with fear and dread.
The comrades fought, side by side,
But one by one, they fell dead.

He fought on, bruised and broken,
Until the last monster was slain.
He stood alone, purpose hollow,
His actions seemed meaningless
Like drawing lines in an endless tide,
He thought of letting go...

His eyes close, as though to fade away,
But then Death’s voice came, cold as iron:
"Fight on, though nothing remains."
Life’s whisper, soft as dawn:
"Remember them. Carry their spirit."
And so, with every beat, he begins.

At dawn, he runs through fields,
Each stride a promise.
In a quiet kitchen, he bakes—
Hands dusted with flour,
Each loaf a small revival.
He climbs hills in her honour,
Though the wind strikes
Sharp as a knife.
In the town, he leaves simple acts of kindness—
A loaf of bread by a stranger’s door,
A warm coat where frost bites.

For he is Hope,
The son of Life and Death,
A flame that reshapes
The world fractured by his parents.
In his steps, in his hands,
The fallen live on—
In each loaf, in each breath,
A dream rekindled, a future reborn.