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