Poetry

Freedom?

By 16th April 2009 December 9th, 2019 No Comments

Waiting for aid to come,
The boy lies there,
Hoping for freedom from
This hell- hole.
His blood drenched form
Lies next to the stinking copse
Of his mother.
Days pass.
His eyes survey the
Peerless blue of Gaza’s sky,
And then the ebbing life
Of the child across the room,
Quietly haemorrhaging.
His mind drifts on a sea of loss,
In and out of consciousness.
His damaged body
Knows it can
Be repaired, but
Not his war-shattered
Mind,
Cut free from his childhood,
But never free from
His experiences.

Isabel Gann

Author Isabel Gann

More posts by Isabel Gann

Leave a Reply