Children, War and Hate
The children grieve and die.
Their memories are gone.
The children weep and cry.
They never see the sun,
And all once dear and close is left to falter in time’s run…
The children never see.
The children never hear.
They plead to G-d to free
Their lives from chains of fear,
And memory is held within the crystal of each tear…
Each drop a passing dream.
Each drop a passing hope.
Each drop is what could seem.
The loss of will to cope
With everlasting strife which ties around them like a rope…
The hearth is cold and bleak,
And home, a place of bliss,
Where children once did seek
Their mama’s hands and kiss,
Has wrapped within the thorny shoots of fate’s steel chrysalis…
Why must the children die?
Why must the children know?
Why must the children cry?
Why must the children grow,
Just knowing and just seeing and just feeling such a woe?
Years may have passed away,
And people have forgot
Such hell, but it shall stay
Within each child’s thought
To have been there to suffer war and having had to rot….
Chipped has the picture frame,
Chipped now forevermore,
But always shall the same
Be lasting thoughts of gore
And blood and fear and woe and strife for children born midst war….
© 2014 Gleb Zavlanov
Copyright © Gleb Zavlanov | Year Posted 2014
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