I wrote this poem in the Fall of 2015 when the War in Syria was at it’s height and meanwhile the Refugee Camps were overflowing. I saw this picture of young Syrian kids, who played together in a Camp and but still seemed to be missing that spark and worry free look on their faces. Then I thought back to my childhood, how protected I had grown up, and how important the word “HOME” was to me. What a privilege I had had to wake up in my own country, in my own home, in my own bed to the tone of singing birds and not an exploding bomb.
A FAREWELL TO ARMS
I have a dream – warm, calm, green –
it haunts me at night,
when I hear them
So curious and bright
just stepped foot on this earth
with innocent eyes,
that still see its worth.
Now they’re broken by our constant FIGHT!
Just google: “Lost Generation”.
I have a dream – as obscure it may seem –
that one day we hold not our own,
but each other’s
Call me an idealist
(it seems today that’s extremist)
But let me ask:
Who brought change to this world?
by Pauline F.