Scrabbling in the dirt,
gripping her mud splattered space,
facing the fury of human hatred,
a child crying for a chance to be.
———————–
Pulling herself up,
handheld tight to the hideous sight,
eyes blanketed and bleached
a wretched one of warring men.
————————-
Stooping to touch him,
scrabbling in the ruins of love
she found her father’s fingers,
and held on, hoping he’d wake
———————-
and whistle, and wrap her
tightly and lightly, but
the barbarism and blindness
of self centred sadists,
—————–
blasted the battered child,
and her eyes emptied of life
stare sightlessly at his hand,
and somewhere someone smiled
and said, “Well Done!”
