HELP, HELP! People are dying in here.
A makeshift shelter crafted from the fallen remains of broken homes cannot play fact to the torture we’ve endured.
A young woman, cradles her screaming child, embracing her fear as she clutches to what’s left.
The air runs thick with an unpleasant taste, as nurses scramble to heal the incurable.
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Thank you very much for replying. I submitted this poem in haste, and don't even like it myself. I thought this would get ridiculed and laughed at, so thank you.