I walk the broken streets
Broken buildings stare back,
Black gaping holes
Where homes should be.
Broken souls sit quietly,
Vacant eyes,
Silent cries,
No passers by.
Yet, in other towns
In other lands,
A different scene
Can still be seen.
Sidewalk cafes abound
The sound of laughter pervades,
Among the gossip,
No one seems afraid.
It doesn't matter,
Lorries clatter by,
Filled with crap
For mundane lives to buy.
Back in the broken streets
A Mother weeps
And keeps her dead child close
For one more hour.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Owain Glyn
