The Red Planes

In the air, oh so far away

Little red planes had flown our way.

When they were close we could see

the little dark crosses on their wings.                    

If we knew then what we know now

we would have hid quicker, better

but as life has it, we stood.

Waiting.

When the planes were close, we knew

LIFE was all. But close at hand.

Craters caused from little bombs

as black as death and murderers.

Crumpled farms and crumpled walls.

Our little village in the hills

not even safe.

-Children trembled in their future nights.

Under rubble lied belongings.

Piled higher than the wreck.

Buried there were dreams and hopes,

some to be recovered,

but never peace of mind.

Children still played,

but not as rambunctiously.

Taking such innocence in life

not just from the wounded,

but those who have caused harm.

Trained in youth to wound

and then coerced to kill!

Life is but a fragile thing.

It can be shattered, broken,

it can collapse in all at once

to suffocate and take away.

Breathe!

Childhood has long gone,

no longer do the flowers smell.

No longer can our feet feel grass.

Painless, painful.

How to be redeemed?

From depths to far

so very much unknown.

To feel once more like before.

When loud noises are heard

the adults go running.

They hide before their children,

so they might live and still be with them.

The only worry is, 
what if their children don’t make it?

Who would they live for then?

When the little red planes left,

after dropping their bombs,

they left heavier.

Carrying dreams,

hopes and aspiration.

Leaving behind 
the weightless
remnants of fear.
That is what war is, 
endless loosing.