And I look up at the sky
Hoping to see
What was never there,
What never existed.A blue sky made with freedom
White clouds of love
Little birds, who've just learnt to fly
Spreading their little wings, soaring high...
But I see
The Bomber plane
Flying across a sky black with smoke
Created to kill.I look around my city
And I see a wasteland of shattered dreams.And I feel so alone
I go around the marketplace,
My friends house
Nothing remains.
I'm too scared to look at the
bodies scattered along the streets
Severed limbs, a corpse without a head
Afraid I will see a familiar face.I wish I hadn't come back.
But then, I had to. I had to.
To pick up the pieces of what was left behind.And then I heard it,
a faint cry,
a sound made, just to be sure of its own existence.And I knew why I had come back,
A baby in a plastic bag.
It had somehow survived.
Delicate, fragile, barely, barely breathing,
But alive.I looked around at the wasteland of death
And picked up the only thing living
For even I was dead inside.
I held it close to my heart,
And found the hope I was looking for.I looked up at the sky again,
Black with smoke
Hoping to find myself somewhere beyond.
YOU ARE READING
Opus
Poetrya lonely Saturday conversation on the wrong side of the yellow bedroom curtains. ... || Wattys Winner 2018 ||