He stares into empty space,
In his eyes, faces fade and die.
Darkness creeps from the corners of his mind,
Slowly losing self to time and tide.
Standing in the midst of chaos,
Charred remains of humanity clings on barely.
As the very foundation seems to crumble and fall,
Blood and dust
Fills the crevices of his heart.
He sits by the window,
Pale face,
Scared.
Outside,
Not even light finds way through the smog.
Bloodied knuckles and broken bones,
His small hands hold onto the remains of a burnt picture,
Smiling faces and sad eyes.
Afraid of the shadows,
Crimson dreams visit him at night.
He looks at the reflection in the window,
Watching as his sunken eyes brim with tears,
Wondering why they left him here alone.
As he lies down under the covers,
Trying to forget the gunshots and the screams
Echoing thru the night,
He wishes to never grow up,
Not here,
Not now,
Not when *hope is dead and gone.
© Meenu Syriac