I stare up amongst knees and waists,
My hands are still shaking,
It seems our world is falling around us,
Our foundations quaking.

Amongst this crowd we are nothing,
Nothing to these men,
As we await for that army,
We run off to our den.

Back at the flat our dog is gone,
Stolen from our grips,
Now he lies in someone’s stomach,
Through their hungry lips.

Food is scarce and so are we,
Since the siege has begun,
As mere children we want to play,
But restricted is our fun.

Ghosts walk amongst us,
In our town and school,
In our market and in our church,
Oh how the world is cruel.

They tell us it’ll be over soon,
And we swallow up their tale,
But of course, of course, they were not right,
Now we’re all thin and pale.

Chris Salmon aged 15