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BLOOD OF AN INNOCENT : BY J C PHILLIPS
BLOOD OF AN INNOCENT
BY J C PHILLIPS
As I cower here beneath the rubble,
I try to stand but my feet just stumble,
the distant cries upon the cold night air,
the cold, hard looks that simply stare.
The chill that sets in freezes me so,
yet here I hide in the "warmth" of below,
I refuse to be thrown out of my only home land,
so here I'll stay and take my stand.
My small and tender blood-stained hands,
search for something in the dusty land,
my stomach twists with a well known ease,
hunger sets in like the midnight breeze.
I turn to face the bodies of those I love,
I look to the heavens high above,
I ask for answers of how and why,
I hear the silence pass me by.
I sit beside my mother her face now free of pain and fear,
she had been in this situation and once again it is here,
her eyes stare at the spot of mould upon the wall,
her heart beat stopped at the start of it all.
A child of nine I may only be,
but could you handle what I now see?
My family close, those I loved so much,
the one that death loved to touch.
Tears roll down my dirty face,
I glance one more time about this place,
the refuge that had slowly become my home,
the bombed and crumbled walls of stone.
Into the darkness I venture,
seeking my final, proud adventure,
the screech of metal flies throughout the air,
the cries of the wounded everywhere.
I see the target they are seeking for,
this all out, defensive, "Save Our Security" war,
I gently kiss the world goodbye,
I wait for the bombs to drop from the darkened sky.
Here I sit my head in my hands,
my loved ones gone and I don't understand,
how two grown men can make a choice,
and draw blood of innocents against the voice.
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