In the trenches, time ceased to flow. It paused, held its breath, and in that stillness, moments blossomed into eternity.
Silhouettes of men moved like phantoms, their voices whispers lost in the damp earth. Each heartbeat echoed,
each silence deeper than the last, creating a symphony of forgotten days.
When the war drums fade, the land remembers.
Beneath the earth, roots entwine with the memories of men long gone.
The land's heartbeat, a pulse of dirt and rain, speaks of stories untold, truths buried but alive.
And so, through the breath between heartbeats, a circle completes.
From forgotten echoes, new voices rise—stories rewritten in gentle rain
and the soft ache of morning light.