The smell of smoke and acid thins
on the wind as warm breezes
blow softly, taking them away,
from the desert.
Far away to sea.
The lost spoils of war lie
scattered all around. Buried in the
shifting sands. Lives shattered
wait in hope for a better
day. It will surely
come our way.
A child of the new generation
that yearns to hold onto this new
thing yet undefined looks up at
the skies and smiles.
He knows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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