Deadborn

By Jessica Lake

I wailed for my stillborn childhood

Only to think, “Why should I grieve so?”

Others have faired far worse

And are as faultless as myself.

In war childhood dies first

Children’s lives brief and brutal

Stillness is their agony

Each listens for the uninvited guest

The whistle of bombs

The buzz of a drone swarm

The bang and ping of bullets

The squeak, rattle and roar of tanks

Lady Death arrives

With flash and thunder

Bearing many gifts…

Buildings collapse,

Billows of dust swell,

The heat and crackle of flame,

The acrid stench of smoke,

Concrete and metal asunder,

The fortunate crushed outright,

The unlucky buried alive,

The living mangled and maimed

In mind, body, and spirit.

And yet, I think my pain the equal

Of any childhood deadborn.