I once knew this boy with a joyful smile,
when he laughed his mouth gained the length of a mile.
He was healthy as few with a childish way,
of always being around making sure to have a say.
A happy innocent kid with a promising future,
but it’d take less than a second to make him mature.
When the war came it took away his grin,
when the soldiers came and made a terrible sin.
When the fire swallowed everything in its way,
the little boy opened his mouth to say.
“Daddy where are you, where is my mother?
Where are my sisters and beloved brother?
But with no answer to gain from anyone,
he became the lost and lonely son.
Pushed out on streets the boy turned inside out,
he forgot how to laugh and got pro on how to shout.
I knew a boy with cloths torn to pieces,
he was coughing while suffering from too many deceases.
He couldn’t be cured, couldn’t be healed.
It didn’t matter that he prayed, that he kneeled.
With face covered in dirt and eyes like empty holes,
he was walking among other children with empty souls.
They couldn’t be cured, couldn’t be healed,
their childhood were stolen, didn’t matter that they kneeled.
No matter that they prayed to the skies, that they told no lies,
that they committed no sins and made no cries.
They were the ones that were left,
their families were stolen by life-thefts.
Shallow and hollow they walked the empty streets,
they dreamt nightmares and left tears on dirty sheets.
They were children who’d seen evil, who’d lost their innocence
if you heard their voices or saw their eyes, it didn’t make sense.
For how could it be, that these young little kids,
could be as secretive as boxes with unbreakable lids.
With hollow hearts, the shallow children walk alone,
dreaming about horror, and passing graves of stone.
Undeerneath lay their families and past lives,
lives of happiness, that hadn't known either guns or knives.
They are The Shallow Children with Hollow Hearts.
