An Answer in Syria for One Boy

An Answer in Syria for One Boy



Reaching for her torn doll,
three fingers remain, they tremble.
A blood soaked bottle is too far.
The lonely cry of a child
not heard round the world.

The mother cannot move.
Legs gone, clock runs down.
Unable to hold her child;
cut down from her arms.
Where is god? love? home?

The son stands close
his dark wet eyes reflect terror.
His mother, sister,
just laughing with him.
He picks up a bloody gun.

Moving in a circle,
he will stop it all.
Frightening sounds of a sister
useless death of his mother.
It must quit now.

Silence must be better.
Then he can think.


By Kathie Stehr