Wilting flower buds

A poem about child prisoners, questioning the justification for it.

Warm fingers and cold steel

Foggy breathe

I am like a dragon,

Never to kneel.

With my fire breathing callousness.

The Earth trembles in my power

These bars,

They do not move, they do not tremble

I am trapped, like a prisoner.

Lullabies and soft goodbyes

Or bellies aching with hunger.

I mean to grow,

Like the phoenix I am,

Like the phoenix I mean to become.

Yet, these bars,

They do not rattle.

We are lined up for the slaughter

Helpless like cattle.

Products of our parents’ mistakes

This is not my battle.

Childhood recouped with black and white tunnels

Prisoners remain, our children

Our brothers.

Fairies and princes don’t visit by night

We are haunted by gunshots,

And the grey shades of white.

Finger-painting in crimson red blood

This is all we learn

Once you drown a wilting flower bud.