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Poem

In days of lore a sword was held in hand
not a vest strapped to a chest by some command

Terror a very strong feeling of fear
how far this is to what Poets hold dear

In younger days terror was contained in a nightmare
not a bomb or a threat carelessly sent everywhere

How different are they from you and I 
both looking upward into the sky

They have a mother and father too
often than naught they don’t have a clue what 
their offspring is up to

We may write for many a reason 
though their cause is more likely to end in treason

All have feelings galore to share 
even if theirs seem like they don’t care

Here I sit and lament how another explosion to prevent
looking for an answer that may be from higher up sent

So what is our role at times like this, is it to write about
happiness and bliss or those that we will miss

Is it my task to ask you to ponder and pause
or coach you into looking for another cause

Know that there is good in everyone whether you 
be a daughter or a son

So my request might be to pick up a pen to deliver your message
a passage or two to get you through to removing the vest from your chest

Andreas Simic©

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