The Price of War

Freedom Preetham
Misty Vignettes
Published in
1 min readJan 24, 2024


In halls of power, where age commands,

The fate of youth in distant lands.

Elders decree with steady hands,

The young to fight on war-torn sands.


Not theirs the blood, the sweat, the tears,

But on young shoulders lie their fears.

Through time, this cycle, ever clear,

Commands the young, while old steer.


From plush seats of comfort and of might,

They send the young to distant fight.

A paradox of age and youth,

In pursuit of their own truth.


In every wrinkle, story deep,

Lies a tale that cannot sleep.

Do these lines speak of love or hate,

Or just a power that can’t abate?


The young, with vigor, life, and fire,

March to fulfill old men’s desire.

In their eyes, a question burns,

For each bullet, the world turns.


Can wisdom old and youth so brave,

Together find a path to pave?

Where peace, not war, is the true quest,

In pursuit of mankind’s true best.


Let voices rise, both young and old,

In resounding dialogue, brave and bold.

In unity, our stories told,

For peace, our shared and precious goal.


~ Freedom