Journalist At War

• Jaiden Chicote, Grade 9
• Poetry
• 2014

The nights, of the twilight grew dark.
The ambient sounds of war echo like a bark.
One, Two, Three men marched onto the barren lands.
Ting, Tong, Tlack, the rickashaying gunfire tatter the journalist van.
When will I see the true days of peace?
Click, Click, Click, the images of war depict it’s tales.
As the men in these images were no more than dead.
Bullets whistle pass me, will every miss be my last.
When will I see the true days of peace?
Blood on my face stain my eyes.
As to seeing the redness of the people’s demise.
I feel the heat, shells and the shards of glass as the sounds of war strengthen each day.
Will the true days of peace ever come?
The ground is stained in red.
The camera is torn to shreds.
Helicopters above hover the ground,
Reminding my friend the days of the War.
“Boom” a landmine has blown.
The screams of people echoes beyond.
Will the true days of peace ever come?
As tanks roll over, people thrown over,
Through the explosion that are gigantic to see.
When will I see the true days of peace?