My History Book Poem by Chelsey M. Smith

I open the cover of my history book
And flip through all the pages.
I open my eyes to what they might see, I take a gander; I take a look.
As I flip through these pages I flip through years of wars
Of years of scores
Settled by those in distant lands, in far away places.
But also those in my own
All those wars that left so many without a home
Without shelter, without care.
Gassed soldiers gasping for air.
Children in high radiation areas that can no longer grow their own hair.
Now I start to not flip through this text but look at each page…
And the numbe3rs start to count not pages but those crying in the night
Wishing their family members home. Hoping that they might
Return not in a bag or in a coffin but by their own free will.
That they were the ones not killed but those who had the chance to kill.
I close the cover down upon the book.
But still my mind flips through each snap shot took.
And gone is not the chill
That has set in upon me.
I cry for all those soldiers and all those innocents.
For If I do not, are there any who will?
For the rest of the world believes history is but a book.
In reality it signifies so much more…
So many lives took.
So many chances gone.
So many futures destroyed.
So little peace.
Maybe you should take a look
At my history book.