The Children

Their eyes no longer blank As they had risen from concrete crumbles. In the burning heat of day And in the rituals of the night. Rushing through the strings of dirty tents Trying to find the ceaseless end Looking for the mothers and fathers That will never be seen again. But in the stillness of the morning, They will rise so yet again To use the energy that's left, to climb The grassy hill, the steepened slope. They will not take for granted They will give all that they have and it's worth it all for us, To see them smile just once more. And by the time that the numbers And endless words a count finish, They have climbed back down the mountain To the forever blackness of the tents.