I stood where the banners burned both sides,
Hands empty, blade held low,
Called traitor by the faithful flame,
Too soft for the falling snow.
They bless the sword, they crown the storm,
They cheer the loud and cruel,
But curse the ones who choose the line
Between the flame and the rule.
The world punishes balance more than extremes,
It fears the steady hand,
It loves the tyrant and the zealot’s dream,
But not the one who stands.
Between the fires, between the cries,
Where truth is quiet and plain—
The world punishes balance more than extremes,
And calls restraint a sin.
The loud are fed, the pure are praised,
The broken are made into signs,
But those who weigh the cost of power
Are left behind the lines.
To burn is simple, to freeze is clean,
To choose one lie and die,
But holding both the dark and light
Is the slowest way to bleed.
The world punishes balance more than extremes,
It sharpens every edge,
It breaks the bridge and names it fate,
Then wonders why we fall again.
So sing for those who carried peace
Like a wound they could not hide—
The world punishes balance more than extremes,
And buries wisdom alive.
