The sky prevailed,
Once so cerulean and clear,
Like the droplets of every tear,
That ever descended from the face,
Of the Syrian race.
To now be so full of grey, motionless smoke,
Is the new up rise
They look up with disoriented hope,
As they attack whilst passing by.
Syria, why do you bleed?
A country so worn, so torn
Ruled by a ruthless tyrant
Syria, why do you bleed?
For the media, the money you feed?

As blood filters the once fresh soil
That you lay upon
The roots are scented
With the flesh of your warriors
The flowers bloom
Their petals red
The stems so vividly green
Intricate patterns dotted white
With a fate so black
Like your flag
But then it is demolished
The strikes rain down
A kind of rain that nature fears
Nothing to offer
But gawping mouths
A rubble-ridden house
And last words.
Flying upon the grounds
With the force of hate
Resisted by nothing
This is their fate.

Bodies now lay upon the surfaces
That they bloomed from
Yet again to be suspended
For burial.
No memorials.

This which seals the providence
For those who fell in this political trap
And yes, all they are destined for
Is eternal mishap.