voice from the rubble

A face pressed against a window
A tumbledown shack
Grimy fingers scratch the mud away
Huge black eyes, terror stricken eyes..

There was a deathlike stillness after the explosion.
They had all gone
would they ever return
And if they did
would they come back, scarred and amputated
some reported missing..

why should there be so much hope
in the midst of death
circumstances..
maneouvred by man..

my mind forever shadowed
As I lay prostrate
I could not give Homer or Milton their due

would the war ever end
would my beloveds get a decent burial?
what would life be in the aftermath?

This was not renaisance
This was not metamorphosis

would we ever be whole again?