A farewell to Arms

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.

Kids in refugee camp copy


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.