The War Zone
Half walls call out in pity-filled pain.
Streets, grazed and bleeding,
lie still
in silent shock or are they dead?
Children, play hollow now, where once they skipped and sighed the summer days.
Women, bent and battered,
Crawl, where once they bustled to markets alive to the brim,
to laundries which had a point.
Men, those men,
won fame and lost fortune on cards and dice, drank coffee, called to girls.
Was this truly what they waited for,
As they whistled away long hours?
Did they truly crave the spite-grey worth of war?
Are they happier now in this wretched scuffling through slaughterhouses?
No more for them
No more for us that whiled-away life,
We barter for dust now, wash our clothes in tears.
crumble our homes and our hopes like stock cubes in some crazed soup.
There is nothing, no edges are hard none are soft
Gravel and debris,
Grey despair lies as it falls.
Everywhere.
Save in just one small corner.
There a tiny blue flower smiles shyly to all who shuffle past and chance to see.
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Comments
Greetings Fiona,
One glimmer of hope for normalcy don't always have to be created from any spectacular event, such as a signed peace treaty, or explosion of some super nova for the appeasement of some form of scientific gratification, instead sometimes it takes something as small as one little flower perched against a single blade of grass, for its only support. Proving to all that takes a quick time out from the hustle and bustle of our war torn countries, to see that team work, (no matter how great or small the players involved), can conquer all the despair and separation of states that mankind has to throw at us..The rose that grew from concrete, is a flower that has a true belief, that better days are yet to come and that no matter how much death and destruction touch the lives of the innocence, this flower symbolizes the pure proof, that there is beauty hidden in all things and wishes to be released from even the ugliest of destruction and that there are kinks that can be found even in the mightiest of armor worn, even by death itself, Leaving in its awakened path, the smallest glimmers of hope, (such as this flower)……
Sincerely,
Jim.
I nearly took the last couple of lines out...glad I didn't! Thanks for taking the time to read and comment Jim!