War Child

Welcome to the bomb shelter capital of the world,

Where blood spills from pushchairs and christens carpets,

And where those left behind are the same as the dead,

Where fear, death and siege is what we preach,

And where tombstones and rubble replace our beds.

Our playgrounds are shell-scarred and littered with shrapnel,

Games are limited to hide-and-seek with gunmen,

Books are charred and teddy bears are stuffed full of dust,

History, strength and power can never re-flower,

While our souls lay broken, succumbing to rust.

My mother raises one and gives another to the ground,

Her tears are never permitted the chance to dry,

Flowers stem from the soil where my brother fell,

Adult tears extinguish childhood fears,

While my father’s cry drones on, numbly as a knell.

Rockets pierced through our protective shell of youth,

In peace time, we reclaim a little of what was stolen,

We rejoice with the demons of our childhood,

Fear and hostility gives way to tranquillity,

Though our innocence is dead, drowned in blood.

By Tyler Turner


One thought on “War Child

  1. Pingback: War Child – J.S.M.Slater

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s