What They've Done

Old Poem of Witness I had to do for a writing class.

September 12, 2014
By Shaire Blythe

WHAT THEY’VE DONE

Hear the scream and cries of no lullabies.

Those are not bullets of blood, they are soaked

from head to toe, all for every nation to see.

“Look what they’ve done to me.”

These are precious hands cradling their mothers

and fathers, sister and brothers, aunts and uncles.

Where does the madness end? And that girl right

there, that was Zada’s friend, but she wasn’t so lucky,

bouncing her plastic ball near that street corner.

That western rocket came straight from the amber skies,

exploding into pockets of hell’s flames.

This surely is hell.

There wasn’t even a chance, was there--born into a

foreign world that would define death? Yoseph has

stayed under his bed for days. He hasn’t come out all

because of what they’ve done--

fed war.