The plight of the displaced

She was small for her age and a little crooked

With a smileless slumber and a shock

of black curly hair swept across her furrowed forehead.

 

Her eyes were dark soul-less pools stagnating in the silent suffering

Of the child displaced by war.

Motherless and mutilated, futility replacing fear.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson.

This is for day 26 Napowrimo

 

Author: alisonhankinson

I am a school teacher and a mum and a red cosmic skywalker, and sometimes a netball coach...but beneath it all I am a writer...

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