The Meek will Inherit the Earth

There are hrouds of shadows, where silence weaves
Among the hollow, a place where no heart grieves.
In a culture cold, where kindness fades,
The prey, with beating hearts, in quiet parades.

Through haunted streets, where numbness reigns,
A symphony of sorrow, in the prey's refrains.
Beneath the moon, a heart's soft beat,
Echoes in the darkness, a vulnerable feat.

They walk as ghosts, with souls untold,
In search of warmth, in a world grown cold.
Yet, predators lurk, with eyes so keen,
To feast upon the hearts, pure and serene.

A dance of survival in the midnight air,
The prey's pulse whispers, a silent prayer.
Beware the ones who wear a guise,
For in their hands, compassion dies.

But amidst the shadows, a flicker of hope,
The prey's resilience, a slippery slope.
In the night's embrace, they persevere,
For even in darkness, love will appear.

So, let the heartless tread with care,
For the prey's spirit is a flame to bear.
In a culture of void, they endure the strife,
A symphony of hearts, the rhythm of life.