A small boy huddles
in a doorway…
peeking through dirty fingers
at the rocket’s red glare…
splays of crimson
spattering like blood,
showering his village with fire…
unable to comprehend
why adults go to war.
All around him the wails,
anguished howls,
piercing screams,
barely audible
over the relentless blasts.
The innocent…
the ordinary…
united in grief,
and in death.
A veil of bullets
pelting, pinging
the walls,
the cars,
his neighbors,
his dog,
his mother...
his father, brave and strong…
resting in the ground,
or lying in the street.
Amongst the rubble,
a crackling blaze
and the disquieting odor
of burning flesh.
All who loved him are gone.
Shivering with cold and fear,
his tummy rumbles.
Sucking his thumb…
his only meal today…
he can’t decide
what hurts most of all…
his empty belly…
or his breaking heart.
Michelle Close Mills ©
and has to be said. Bless you for saying it
so well. With such deep feeling!! Phyllis
(((HUGS))) and much love, your Tx., friend, Karen Lynn. :( >tears <
truly shattering write--war is hell. :( a powerful cry for peace--may it begin with me. :(
(((HUGS))) and love, karla. :(
A gut-wrenching write.
Sandie May Angel :o(
Thanks for this one and maybe one day we will not have to see this that of life or pictures
Tommy
Love Tinka
what hurts most of all…
his empty belly…
or his breaking heart
A truly hearbreaking write and picture, Michelle, and sadly, something far too many children have had to endure throughout the entire bloody history of mankind.
This is a powerfully touching poem and it went straight to the very core of me. Children should never have to see these things, never have to experience these things and never have to carry these things in their little hearts. Bless you for writing this poem. I hope it opens eyes to the horrors of war. Children are the innocent casualties.
Chanti