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Her War Child
There she stands and sees his eyes.
Behind him mayhem, hear the cries.
In his hands he grasps a gun.
Sadly, there are many like him, more than one.
Behind him sits bits of trash.
Citizens and rebels use their fists to clash.
Blood flies onto sand to make it red.
These fights are over the once beloved dead.
To the left abandoned sheep roam,
In front of stacks of bricks once called home.
Mother clutches her baby tight,
While staring at her war child, a horrifying sight.
She places her back onto a graffiti filled wall.
She shouts her son’s name, but he doesn’t get the call.
He’s a soldier now, sleep, he doesn’t care.
Her chameleon war child is what she can no longer bear.