The Children

I can hear them cry out
another nightmare
come daylight becomes
another reality.

I can see them bleeding
limbless and pleading
in a universal language...
freedom from war
should be theirs,
the children.

I can feel them trembling
as they wet their beds
crying out in pain for
rescue from war
and food for their stomachs.

I can taste their fear
blatantly metallic with
the fetid smoke of
bombs and fire
a death pyre
piled in the market place
ready to be torched.

I can smell their desire for
freedom and fields with
space for play and flowers,
their wish is not to cower
from an unsought enemy
hour-by-hour
in a barricaded plaza
sending prayers for release...
the children of Gaza.

Karen Robinson Chaffee
All Rights Reserved

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