Alone

There is a little girl

on the bedroom floor.

She's not crying any more,

but the tears have left salty tracks

down her solemn face.

She stares out of her

old grey eyes, too old

for this sad little girl.

They speak of death

and heartbreak and famine

and war, and of pain.

She's silent and alone,

in this cold, dark hideout.

Fourteen hours of thoughts

and tears and hopes and fears.

Where were you?

 

Reviews

[Chloe..Across the Unive..]

What a way to end this poem with such a question. "Where were you"?
This is one that pulls your heartstrings..
Children should not have to endure such pain.
And we should do more.. and then we can answer your question with , i was there perhaps.
The part you write of her eyes really gets to me .. wonderful poem!

Chloe