Some become, some end.

What's beautiful now,
Started as blood and filth; 
What's peaceful now,
Was once a war at home; 
The hands writing poetry now, 
Wrote the last goodbye erewhile; 
The dust beneath your soles, 
Was heretofore a morning star;
The faint whisper now, 
Used to be a wolf's howl.
Not everything that is, lasts. 
And not everything that isn't, 
Never will be. 
-U.J