The Wailing of Sirens

The bombs rain down on us

From a sky as cold and grey

As concrete.

The snowy ground before me

Is set ablaze with blue fire.

It engulfs my front porch

And chases me through the halls.

It is waiting for me

In the nursery,

Where I pull the baby

From her restless sleep.

Her doll is burning;

It’s porcelain face is chipped.

Her teddy bear has lost its two black eyes.

Her room is filled with red,

As is my chest.

She wails and screams

As I race from the house,

Her head still covered by a lacy pink bonnet.

Her childhood has already been taken from her,

Though she does not yet know it.

But I know.

I watch our home go up in flames,

And soon, the whole city with it.

This war has taken everything from me.

When morning comes,

I sit in the pale sunlight

That overlooks the hills

And converse with the ghosts that linger there.

They were like me once.

Perhaps I am like them

And have fallen away

From the living and the earth.

I cannot tell.

The cries of my child and the wailing of sirens

Keep me awake long into the night.


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