War Poem: Death of a Toddler

1
588

By Barbara Millar

O, Syrian child, armies of refugees, huddled together

on rotting boats, on a fickle sea, washed ashore

like detritus of a shipwrecked land:

death by hunger

death by mortar

death by fire

death by water.

You were a little piece of heaven

born amid the ruins.

Above your head through shattered stones

a crescent moon appeared

like the pale, velvet flesh of your eyelids

in a land where the Tigris and Euphrates

cradled an empire.

Your life was priceless like the others.

Like the Prince of Angels,

You had a golden smile.

Yet not even a god can bring back the dead.

Your eyes radiant as embers;

two jewels polished by a mother’s glance.

So loved were you by all the world who stood idly by

while your nation burned.

About VT Editors
VT Editors is a General Posting account managed by Jim W. Dean and Gordon Duff. All content herein is owned and copyrighted by Jim W. Dean and Gordon Duff
ATTENTION READERS
Due to the nature of independent content, VT cannot guarantee content validity.
We ask you to Read Our Content Policy so a clear comprehension of VT's independent non-censored media is understood and given its proper place in the world of news, opinion and media.

All content is owned by author exclusively. Expressed opinions are NOT necessarily the views of VT, other authors, affiliates, advertisers, sponsors, partners or technicians. Some content may be satirical in nature. All images within are full responsibility of author and NOT VT.

About VT - Read Full Policy Notice - Comment Policy

Comments are closed.