The Syrian boy

I come from war,
I'm used to such pain.
Existence disdain,
Soul with a scar.

No more nobility,
Thus replaced with profanity.
A desolated history.
Scourged upon a broken history,
Mixed emotions; random insanity.
Men incapable of humility.

Remember what you soldiers did?
Look at my face, my arms and legs then tell me what you really see?
Bruises on the body of a young, innocent kid.
Because of you not even God would recognise me.

I'm a child of abuse,
Just like many other for whom the world has no use.
And to you I became a thing.
But when I get to heaven I'm gonna tell God everything.

This poem is about: 
Our world

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741