Unknown- An Ode

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

An ode to the refugees of Syria, who are facing so much injustice.

He is my only child,
cradled in my arms like a bouquet of lilies
as if my shaking limbs are sandbags stacked close.
I try to sing him away, but only names of the dead linger on
my tongue, a bitter-sweet education,
for if he lives
if they let us live,
he will know them by heart.

I can't smell anything but heat,
that damp, humid scent amongst the dust of what we were.
I can't hear anything but an end, and the start of
something bigger than me. I can hear death.
The bang came first, then the panic
and now the nothing.
I cannot see a tomorrow.


Submitted: November 29, 2015

© Copyright 2020 AlanaLouiseMcDermott. All rights reserved.

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