Still the Bombs Drop

Still the Bombs Drop

The sky opened,

iron birds screaming,

wings cutting clouds,

dropping shadows on earth.

Smoke rose,

dust swallowed streets,

children hid in corners,

their prayers small and trembling.

The bombs dropped,

one, two, three,

fire eating homes,

glass shattered, lives scattered.

Men ran,

women carried the lost,

blood traced footprints,

echoing in broken walls.

Crumbling towers,

smoke veiling the sun,

heat and fear rising,

voices lost in wind.

The world watched,

silent and helpless,

while the machines of death

kept flying overhead.

Ash rained on fields,

dogs barked at smoke,

sky heavy with cries,

the night swallowed by fire.

Somewhere a mother whispered,

“Please, not my child,”

her hands empty,

her soul bleeding into dust.

The bombs dropped again,

echoes in hollow hearts,

the sky full of fire,

the earth weeping beneath.

Darkness came early,

stars hidden behind smoke,

hope thinned like paper,

fear settled into bones.

We counted the toll,

names carved in memory,

ashes carried by wind,

tears like rivers running.

The birds flew on,

iron wings cutting hope,

and we bent under shadows,

breathing in grief.

God save us all. Amen.

My dear reader, thank you for your support and letting me share with you the love of my life, an insight into my thoughts, feelings, and life. God bless you