I wake up in the night thinking about children
not mine but yours
you broken mothers
snatched from security and comfort
thrust into a divide uncrossable
left at the bottom of the rubble
from a sectarian blanket bombing campaign for peace
and domination
Category: War
Wounded Warriors, Poetry by Deborah Johnson
When the young and innocent sign up to defend freedom with pride,
Knowing the possible sacrifice causing fearful questions deep inside.
Yet still defending freedom without regard to cost,
Against those enemies filled with evil, killing the weak and lost.
WILDsound Festival 