I don't understand what they say, But I know it's not a good thing. What a strange word it is: War. What does it mean, really? Is it the blood that is spilled, or the gunshots you hear from down the streets? Is it the tears wept from millions of people, Or the feeling that it will never be alright? But one thing I do understand: It will end. How strange it is, that no one knows this, Even though everything comes to an end. The prospect of never being able to smile again. That doesn't exist, and it never will. Even in the worst of storms, The sun will peek out again. One day, Mama will whoop with joy as she listens to the news. The TV will tell her it's over, And Papa will walk up the steps and walk into our home, And Mama will laugh and cry at once and hold him tight, And while I know that day is a long way off, I know it will come. For I have my hope, and it's my only one wish, That my Papa will return to me. After all, what else can I do to save him but hope? War. It's such a strange word. But everything ends somewhere.
FN Pixie · Sun May 04, 2008 @ 01:05am · 0 Comments |