Andrew Crisci Poet Rhyme

A Refugee's Escape

Months ago, I had to leave my country,
and being war-torn, death was everywhere;
babies cried under the smoking rubble
and with bleeding hands, I did save many.

The projected missiles kept on coming,
a gray mushroom cloud formed rising;
buildings tumbled down, crashing in dust;
in a small bunker I hid and raised my fist. 

I cursed Man for being so destructive,
I invoked God to protect me from injury;
and in my anguish, I felt innate serenity...
the only one alive doing the imperative.  

War is another plague that has bred much hate; 
if my looks and skin is the cause of all plights,
why am I to blame for having been born in this
land of palms and deserts that memories awake?    

Not in God's, but in the hands of mercy lies my fate;
off to Europe I go, following  the shadow of others...
will I be welcomed or rejected for my religious beliefs?
My hope rests in their kindness and the vows I take.

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