Children of War

There is an ache that surrounds my heart
Painstakingly,
                       gradually,
                                        gravitating
towards the shallow end of it. It reminds
me of a sun that is torn.
                                          Torn to shine
on the same world.
                                 All with different light.

One shines on a flower bed ready to
bloom
            Another takes the skin off of
the ones already withering.

                                               This world,
the air all around,
                              every other step,
they smell like dead mothers and
lost fathers.

                     When there is still time to
play, They look at the sky, counting stars
in daylight.

                    oblivious of being constantly
evaporated, they drink from what makes
them thirsty

                     They play; covered in soot,
of what once used to be their home.
They stand, half crouched revealing
the
     gray and black
                                that defines them

And when the sudden blight
unfolds itself on those tiny vessels of life
and misery
                    This world watches all the
same,
          From their glass castles,
          Warm beds
          Flowery blankets
          Full plates
        
                           the sun turns itself
Into night to hide them
                                      the earth
heaves its innards outside to
consume thiers
                             Wars --I concluded--
aren't fought for what's living but for those
who will perish fighting death.