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Remember Little Joey
by
Martin H. Tesler
Amid the
ruin and rubble,
Joey sits in powdered dirt;
His cries are now just whimpers,
For numbness dulls his hurt.
And food no more concerns him,
Though his hunger has not ceased;
He only craves his mother,
Just recently deceased.
She was a gentle woman,
Just trying to survive,
In a war-torn world of evil men,
With Joey by her side.
And as his pulse beats weakly,
He tries to understand
The Hell on Earth that his mother called
"Man's Cruelty to Man."
He remembers sounds of roaring planes,
And the flashes of bright light;
He remembers being terrified,
As they rushed about in flight;
He remembers claps of bursting bombs,
As she held him very close;
He remembers falling to the ground,
As the shrapnel ripped their clothes.
He remembers shallow, gurgling breaths,
As she held him close to pray;
He remembers feeling all alone,
As she slowly slipped away.
He remembers being in her arms
On that night she went to sleep,
And beseeching her to waken up,
As she lay a blood-soaked heap.
Amid this ruin and rubble,
As darkness fills the skies,
Joey lies beside a lifeless corpse,
Tears streaming from his eyes.
His whimpers now are silent;
His spirit's very weak;
He lays his head 'pon his mother's breast,
And slowly falls asleep.
Oh somewhere there are children
Who are healthy and secure,
And clueless of the suff'ring
That others must endure.
And somewhere there are children
Who are happy and well fed—
But not amid this rubble,
For Joey now lies dead.
© Copyright 2002 Martin H.
Tesler. All rights reserved.
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