James H. Smith

WAR’S CHILDREN

What has happened, where are they gone
Those who have forgotten how to cry

The innocent, the unknowing, the forgotten
The burned, the blind, the crippled

No discrimination or care is found
In the conscience of the bombs, the bullets, the night

The young of war come with missing arm, leg or eye
Staring out from eyes that have forgotten how to cry

Looking out upon what they don’t understand, learning the pain
Alone lost, a new old person locked in their young self

My we bend down on our knees, open our arms, take them in.
Cry for the young of war, for they have lost their tears

Be they from yesteryear, today or tomorrow, one and each the same
The collateral damage, part of the body count, just the forgotten

Cities shattered with bombs, Villages blacked with napalm
Small bodies blacked and shattered, small spirits gone away

As long as the world looks upon war as glorious and right
It will be the babies who pay, now what more might I say
It happens