Truce

Truce – A Poem for Children of War

Today,
I did not waken to
the sounds of war.

Morning tea,
was not seasoned
by the mist of
crumbling mortar.

My gun,
left on a makeshift
and empty table…

I go in search of food.

The theater is gone,
broken rows of empty seats
no longer watch the stage.

Where am I?

Signs are missing.
Familiar landmarks lie lost
among the scattered rubble.

I hear the crying man before I see him.
How long has he been crying?

By the looks of his dead family
must be about a week
he’ll be gone soon too,
you can tell.

Shit! There’s the pharmacy,
blown to hell.

“little bit” needs medicine.

But I don’ know what kind
and I don’t know how much.

God! Where’s the relief truck?

Are they sending supplies?
What day is it?
What year?

The streets are so quiet…
silent, almost
as if, grief
naturally muffles.

I want to cry…but nothing comes.

No tears.
No prayers.
No help.

I have to go back.

Back and tell “little bit”
still no food.

“little bit”
who’s growing weaker.

“little bit”
who likes to bug me at school.

“little bit”
who will die
during my afternoon nap.

Today, I woke to find…

I had slept
through my sister’s
final farewell.

©2000shareeannegorman
(annienomad-cyberpoet)

(excerpt from my book “Legends, Myths & Journeys”)
annienomad.com