His War - Gedichten promoten

His War

Now his arms
Looked like prison walls.
The stripes of war,
Of silent calls.
And screams for help,
That would not come.
And from himself,
He never won.

And the sun,
Shone far too bright.
He never found
The way outside.
So he waited,
Till summer died.
On his cheeks froze
The tears he cried.

And his mind
Was spinning round.
Searched for the end
He never found.
And the harder he tried,
The more he was spent.
And the longest nights,
Were never to end.