A Child Of Terror Poem by John Thorkild Ellison

A cobra coils in the eyes of
The little girl from sweet love city.
Her hair falls down in golden curls
But you mustn't stare
At the rifle on her shoulder
Or wonder why the games she plays are bolder
Than mere hide-and-seek and hopscotch.
Perhaps she'll tell you later
Why she likes to butcher soldiers
In the street and rob
Their bodies of useful ammunition.
Her parents told her
That freedom is worth fighting for
And death is less traumatic
As the heart grows colder.
One day she'll come to realise
That something deep inside her dies
With every life she takes away,
Eventually she'll have to pay
The price for shedding so much blood
In the name of some relentless God!
And so she'll weep and then she'll pray
That she'll wake up on some different day
And be forgiven for her crimes,
The harvest of these evil times.