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