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Survivors

 

[Note: The following two poems are not meant to be connected in any way. They are two separate poems with a sort of similar theme]

 

I

 

Everything was quiet.

The river rambled on,

The birds twittered.

Yet, it was quiet.

 

The hut beside the river, though,

Was the only thing that was truly quiet.

However, in its silence,

It radiated emotions.

 

It was a simple stone and straw hut.

There was a door, a window.

There was even a chimney.

It was truly a "perfect" hut.

 

Inside the hut were misshapen objects.

There was a table, a chair.

There was an object, which looked like a bed,

Upon which were feathers and grass.

 

The sole inhabitant of the hut,

Sat quietly in a corner.

No light on the being,

It just sat there in the shadows.

 

The figure was still,

With something in its hands.

The curiosity even got to the sun,

Which moved down from its noon-time high.

 

The being was humanoid.

It was a girl,

But there was one glitch.

She only had half a face.

 

One eye, one mouth, an ear and some hair,

Were all that survived her head.

The other half was malformed,

And was just dead flesh.

 

She put a hand over her eye,

And silently moaned a moan of pain.

She got up and moved,

To another corner, still living in the shade.

 

She looked and the object,

Without a twitch.

She just sat there quietly,

Staring into the space.

 

The object was square.

It was framed by gold.

Inside was a picture,

Of a boy dressed for war.

 

She moved back and thought,

About times old and gone.

When she had a full face,

Before she came here.

 

She had been sent here by fire,

By the fire of war.

But she didn’t leave before,

Half her face had gone.

 

Her face left her quick,

Before she knew it.

It was long after it was long gone,

That she missed that appendage.

 

She had come for refuge,

To escape from sounds of war.

But the pain never left her,

For she felt it all day.

 

She thought of the boy,

The boy she left when she came.

She hadn’t seen him since.

She wasn’t even sure if he still had face.

 

She thought about death,

In her lonely despair.

She wished it would come to her soon,

And take her away.

 

Dusk had arrived,

Another day had passed.

But still death hadn’t come,

Like Lucy had asked.

 

The place was quieter now.

The river moved slowly,

The birds were asleep.

The only sound was a cry and a moan of pain.

 

II

 

As he slowly lifted his arms,

He could feel it!

He could feel death!

It was all around him.

 

He lifted his head to see,

And, wished he hadn’t.

The land had been ravaged.

Plants, animals, humans, lay dead on the ground.

 

The sun was dark,

The sky was crimson,

The land was bloody,

The bodies were dry.

 

The odour of death reached him.

It nauseated him,

It pained his heart,

But, most of all, it scared him.

 

It wasn’t death,

That was the object of his fear.

However, it was a fear of loneliness,

The he was the only one alive.

 

As far as he knew,

Nothing else lived.

He was now the one and only,

The single to live.

 

It was then that he realised,

A pain all over.

It started from his back,

Where a bullet had pierced his skin.

 

He realised that death was near.

He smiled with joy.

For he would not have to live,

As a solitary boy.

 

He remembered stories,

Stories of the after-life.

He would not be alone.

His war would soon be over.

 

He took one deep breath,

He exhaled all that he inhaled.

He felt life drain out,

With that one long exhale.

 

The world was going away,

Reality slipped from his hands,

His eyes closed, his body dropped.

The lonely life was finally gone.