The Swarm

A poem about war, and those driven from their home in search of a new one. (265 words)

Feet tired on kettle-hot sand

Head hopeful-high

Downcast eyes on the ground

A mother is lost - a child is found

Canteen half full but future unsound

We entered a dark night

And travel long roads

We are The Swarm

Strong from heavy loads

Woods of wild dogs hold terror

Train guards have razor eyes

‘Sans papiers’ officials snarl - and boats capsize

Vultures circle over carrion - and screech

Fanatics with bomb schematics

Behead, befoul and preach

Wolves seek their prey - trace tracks and howl

Lions pace moonlight - shake manes and growl

Drones overhead seek their targets and gleam

For War is an altar - is a pyre that screams

Is a slash in the earth that bellows and bleeds

Is a glutton that shakes hands at arms fairs and feeds

Is a madness, a mayhem, a crime without cease

Waged against children in classrooms and streets

Fought against farmers who flee from their fields

Levelled on lovers who protectively shield

A mile from the border they will not look back

There is nothing to return to - war saw to that

Nothing but ashes, heartache and tears

But the future holds promise in spite of the fears

There’s a long, dark road

Many mountains to climb

Angry voices to answer

And new friends to find

And nothing is certain - and nothing seems real

Nothing is normal - and nothing will feel

Safe, or right, or anything like happiness

For a long time to come

And peace seems

And peace seems

And peace seems

A distant memory

Or a distant land