Although I am not a victim of war myself, I am a survivor of something that allows me to recognize what I am writing about.
Some said they lost all hope; Some did, you saw it in their eyes: That little light That shines so bright Became dull and disappeared. Some became bitter, some wise, Some couldn't cope. That small white Flicker, once bright, Slowly went out. So often that is what I see In eyes, even on TV, and I recognise, For I was there. I was where I did despise What back then became of me. With everything taken away, Including your humanity, And nothing remains But empty shell, Sheer hell. And too tired for complaints. This terrible insanity Of war, how some people play With others as if simple pawns On a chess board. With hands high, To move at will. Freezing chill... I still have no reply, And have no vocal chords Left to speak up... When will it dawn On them we're human entities! Where oh where is my identity...
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