The lost children

By Sarah Phillips

An old woman sits in an old lonely room
Void of feelings she lives in her world full of gloom
She is alone, though not in her head
For haunted she is with the sounds of the dead

She remembers well, with a vague hint of sadness
The wars which have past, the sorrow, the madness
The triumph, the trials, the sound of the fire
Which blows from the guns and is built from desire
Of one or two men, and perhaps a few more
Who feel that in life they must settle the score
Keep pride for their country, teach those who defy
To learn in a way which no man can deny

The lesson of death, which so strictly delivered
Will last for a second, an eye blink, a shiver
And children who waiting, will hopefully glow
In a way in which only young children can show
With the ongoing promise that one day, one week
The front door will open and floorboards will creak
With the sound of those footsteps they long have desired
The return of the one who is so well admired

Years will have passed and the truth will be known
That their soldier is still out defending, alone
In a field which is bare and has long been deserted
Of fights which once filled it with loss, pain and hurting
No longer do bullets fly fast through the sky
Killing blindly with no thought to who will next die
A father, a son, a cousin or brother
An uncle, a child who misses his mother

And all that remains is a lady so sad
Living now in the world which at which she is so mad
People are killing and children are dying
Devastation still lives and leaves hurt mothers crying
The pain and the loss which war only can bring
Is still being caused, and it just leaves one thing
This remains to help those who have lost their young children
In heaven, with God, war is strictly forbidden