Winter
A reaping of hearts in the dead of winter.
Wailing and mourning, the sounds of laughter have been buried.
Among the leaving, the undead have found a home,
Bodies that have blood but dead eyes and dead hearts,
Can anyone bring back our children?
The reaper has no mercy or face.
Carrying the lives we birthed on our heads
Sleeping in the wooden tubs that they will rot in
The gone have forgotten
Yet we drown in memories and reminiscence
Oh war in the winter of the 17th year
How could we dare forget?
Copyright © Patience Mudau | Year Posted 2017
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