The
hand that would caress her
and
brush away a tear
the
hand forever comforting
soothing
in her fear
the
hand hard worked and toiling
browned
by mid day sun
the
hand that held her close and tight
when
nowhere else to run
the
fingers still and cold as ice
uncovered
in the trench
out
stretched amidst the bodies
cloaked
in rotting stench
the
sound a faintest whimper
with
sharp intake of breath
alerted
the passing soldiers
that
led to her death
the
pistol held behind the head
Its
trigger pulled so slow
the
sound of the bullet shot
her
brain would never know
another
senseless murder
the
soldier didn't mind
a
death so quick and painless
in
Syria is thought as kind
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