I sit in the sun.
Soft white clouds drift gently by;
Birdsong and a soft summer breeze
Bathe me in peace.
The calm, blue sky,
A cossetting blanket
Around my world.
But you cannot sit.
There is no sun for you today.
No birdsong;
Just whistling bombs
Pulverising your homes.
Vicious blasts
Ripping the day to violent shreds.
Dark clouds of destruction and hate
Shroud your world.
He came intent on obliteration;
Rampaging, malevolent, merciless,
He will not stop
Until the land where you were born
Lies shredded and torn.
Breathing deep of the strangled air,
You scale the mountains of rubble
Where yesterday your homes stood.
From this great height of righteousness
You look him in the eye
And you fight.
With every breath, you fight;
With every slingshot,
You fight.
And the world looks on.
Politicians talk.
They wag their fingers and talk.
They say they will strip
The giant of his velvet jacket;
But they only snip his sleeves.
Some sit on the fence and watch,
Talking of talks.
Whistling into the winds of war.
I sit in the sun.
On the horizon, I see
Dark clouds billowing;
Threatening my sun,
Shrouding my world.
READ MORE POEMS BY SHARON HEANEY STANSFIELD