Orphans of a War

And these are the times we live in.
These times we have seen before.

Two little children at night;
Their gowns floating in the breeze.
The smell of smoke, of sulfur,
un-confessed poisons.

Red flashes in the distance behind them.
They hold hands; one little more than a toddler.
His little nose runs, saliva of fear and sadness
in his throat.  His sister leads him across 
a field.


Their young parents lie in the eternal sleep.
They remember an old couple, their only
son and daughter killed as hell's engines
leveled first their son's home then 
the daughter's.

 And these are the times we live in.
These times we have seen before.

Ancient pained land that drifted through
many pains; this the most current.

The two little children remember the smiles
of the old couple, once winked at them.
The old man pinched their cheeks, an apple
for both.  Their young parents smiled, nodded.  
Happier times, before the invader.

They came to the old couple's door, the man-made
thunder recedes.  Dawn cuts a few slits in the sky.
The old man opens the door, wife behind him
peering over his shoulder.  They are taken in.

Days later, the old couple decide to steal away 
with their new treasure.  They move along a road
with many others to another land with hopes,
dreams of peace in their hearts.

 And these are the times we live in.
These times we have seen before.