War in Syria
A poem I wrote sitting on the couch, after watching videos of a little boy's dead body washing up on a foreign shore.
After that, there's nothing left to say.
Pls read with the pictures, so you feel it better. For to be sure, nothing else seems to move the human race anymore.
P.S. The first five pictures are prose, not poetry.
Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: Truyen247.Pro