Copyright © Priya Florence Shah
Death follows them,
Dropping like flies,
A shadow of ruin,
Where hope always dies.
Their touch is a curse,
A storm with no end,
Turning bright futures
To ashes they send.
Yet others walk lightly,
With golden embrace,
Turning the barren
To beauty and grace.
Their hands hold creation,
A spark, a new dawn,
Transforming the world
Long after they’re gone.
Two paths, two forces,
One choice to define:
Will you leave destruction,
Or legacy divine?
