Memories

• Amelia Witkowski, Grade 5
• Poetry
• 2020

The haunted part of me, distant, but still there, reaches out to the edge of the world.
It captures the souls of those young and old, brave and fearless, content and determined.
It captures those terrible memories.
Sleeping at night, only to be woken by the treacherous sounds of bombing, the sight of fire and rage.
The battlefields, cries and moans deafening, all you can hear.
Gunshots, like lightning in a dark, starry night.
Invading, the end for one and all.
The haunted part of me, captures the memories of rising water,
whirlpools sucking life down never to be seen or heard from again.
What’s left, on boats trying to survive.
Mothers and daughters, Fathers and sons, all hoping.
The haunted part of me slithers and curls capturing those horrible memories, the ones that will never be forgotten.
Terrors gone, people to be left with peace, safe and sound.
Fading, ever so slowly, I am fading, bad memories with me.
They are to be forgotten, to never be stirred again.
Those memories.