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