The echoes of future kids
singing for the sun.
Begging for some
respite from the long winter nights
that always seem to come.
Children calling, begging for mum.
Crying,
"What have we done?
We never hurt anyone"
Beside seaside, midland towns,
Nottingham by sea, costa del Leicester,
Birmingham beach.
the children weep,
no ice cream will make this future
feel any less bleak.
As the waves compete with the sky
to show which is the fiercest beast.
The echoed howls
never stop, but we listen not.
We lived a lifetime already
not worrying about our bloodlines.
Left everything too late,
we let the darkness consume.
We gave them nothing, no protection,
no solution, no direction.
Just excuses. Even as the truth loomed.
Their battles began
before they had opened their eyes.
Before their first startled cries.
They had no chance.
The fight had already advanced,
and was now lying
dead on the battlefield..
We fired the starters pistol,
then left it to fizzle,
sparking the kindling,
until it was a roaring fire.
Then we took
a backseat and retired.
But those future children
had another fuse
bearing down on them,
not enough that the earth
had become angry.
We forgot about
our weaponry.
Lying neglected
in weapon cache cemeteries.
Until a mad dictator pushed
that red button of fate.
And then deathly silence.
As the future echoed cries fade.
Time it seems was always too late.
Thanks for reading
Please take a few moments
to check out my new book "Poetic Outlaw"
available from Amazon
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CVQ5F9K8/
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