Untitled as yet...

I saw children burying a dove in the sand
when the alarms sounded.
There was an air of nervousness
before the stampede started.
We were swept through streets on the tide
until we found ourselves inside;
between four walls of concrete.
It was a reflex retreat.

The safety of this fortress
has seldom been tested.
They say the key to staying sane’s
to always stay well rested.
So down here people sleep and sleep
and I get tired counting these sheep.
The tremors keep me awake
and musing on our mistakes.

I wish they’d rock me senseless
‘til there’s no call for distress,
so we could sleep like lions together
and we’d certain never worry
about the fears we left behind.

We were told to kneel and to pray
for all our famous fighters;
promised there’ll soon be a day
when we need not fear terrors.
And we would emerge to find the sun
no longer shone on everyone,
but kept its gift of vigour
for us in every hour.

But now those who were informed -
they don’t seem so sure.
They’ve realised that there’s no way
they will spend their next big pay cheque
in the world they left behind.

The clock up on the wall
has paused at five to midnight.
Nobody answers our slight calls
and our eyes don’t shine so bright.
While fists pound upon the doors -
some hollow pleas, to be ignored -
we’ll dream of grass under our feet
but recall only concrete.