Monday, 10 November 2014

She Cries

She cries
Tears run silently down her face
Leaving clean paths amongst the soot and grime
There are no sobs
No cries of rage or grief
Those have long passed now

There is no time to mourn
Another lost to the endless war
That rages without thought
Of those left behind
Of those whose lives are used
Discarded
like the meaningless pieces they are

He gathers sticks
Finding dry wood in the forest
Gathering what spindle-thin arms can carry
Even at a young age
He does what he can
During rare moments
Plays with sticks as swords
Seeing a soldier's life as escape
From this dreary life

She cries still

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