Jul 19, 20221 min
Saachi Khandeparkar 9B
The clock once again ticks with tears,
With bloodshed, victims, screams and fears.
The world once again watches its children
Killing, tainting its soil with sin.
When a child dies of war,
Survival nearly feels wrong
It’s an effort to breath, to try and stay strong
For a life that might have been long and true
Is gone with the bullet-marred winds that blew
When a patriot, a fighter, a soldier is slain,
The sun itself cries out in pain
And its tears fall in rivers of red,
A forgotten grave for a hero now dead.
When a white haired head of wisdom dies,
The world looks on with grief in its eyes.
If old is gold, then a soul golden to its core,
Would be dismissed as a mere casualty of war.
But the worst death of all is not of a man
But of the peace that once used to govern the land
The kindness, the brotherhood, the compassion, the love
Now watch us with God from heaven above.
Why must these funerals be held every day
To satisfy a hunger for power and sway?
The clock once again ticks with tears,
With bloodshed, victims, screams and fears.
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