Wake up

Wake up, warchildren, watch the dark
burn in our lights from hell
until the ones that missed their mark
find you will burn as well.

Watch in the seconds that remain
adults insane with hate
kill dying to be born again
for they shall die too late.

With not a baby’s body won,
their childhood and their children gone,
the fathers go on fighting.

The sun will rise and shine upon
thick smears as it has always done.
Why do I go on writing


wake up, thick smears of war-torn child,
and let your seedling cells grow wild:
the wind will turn the earth afresh
and needs the flavor of your flesh.

Expose your past, your virgin cuts,
kiss with those sweetly yielding lips
of your wounds the brainless hips
of soldiers strangling in your guts.

Wake up, vaguely remembered face,
photo from a forgotten place,
and do what you can do:

come back through rotten time and space.
I have been living by your grace
and am in love with you.

Leo Vroman