The Warmth of a Cold Heart
"It's time to go."
Death's cold voice echoed through the cries of the crowd.
A kid of skin and bones in tattered clothes looked at death with much emptier eyes.
"I'm scared." The child trembled.
"What awaits me is void, filled with nothing but fear.
I want to be with my family, far from the noise of bombs and guns,
from the earsplitting cries of victims."
Death reached out a cold hand.
"What awaits you is the pleasant heat of spring,
the warmth amidst the cold. You will suffer no more,
for you are now free from the exploits of war."
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
