on the 11th hour of the 11th day …
No Man’s Land
night falls
on concrete walls
beside the barricades
it tumbles down with a thud
like a brick falls into mud
she who hides amidst the ruins
gathers up handfuls
of the dusk
hides them in her pocket
pieces of a childish truth
to silence the lies of men
their guns and bombs
tangled wire
screaming death
crimson fire
then
she scribbles with a piece of char
on grey cement
outlines of a half remembered game
skips
plays
dies out her living days.
~John Holland~