Warsaw,1938 Poem by Joseph Lombardo

I looked into the eyes of a child
And the print burned into my grey negatives.
The child reminded me of a wounded deer
I'd once seen.
The deer had been shot
And it had this look on its face.
Eyes open wide
As if the soul were seeking to see more,
Perhaps to better understand the situation,
Or, maybe in the hope that someone would
Notice the stare and do something.
In those orbs I could see the pangs
Of bullets that struck everyday.
No coup de grace here.

Who was this child;
What fate did God bestow;
What skies, if any, were admired?

I looked into the eyes of a child,
And as if in the throes of my moral death
I saw my life's sufferings pass before my eyes,
So I closed the book and walked away with
The greatest humility.