The Wolf

The young and dead still talk to me,

Telling of horrors they’ve seen.

Dead is what they remain,

Children without names,

Victims that we

Did not see

On roads

Known.

[Breathe]

Now

We crown

The fallen,

Stolen daughters;

Yet still they want more:

“Not enough without war.”

Maybe they will die with time,

For now they only carve out lines.

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About DickensianJack

Born in Wolverhampton in November '93, moved to Huddersfield in September 2012. Studying at the University of Huddersfield. In love with the town - simple as that. As for the blog itself, I've been doing bits and pieces of writing (with varying quality) for a few years. A friend suggested I start a blog to share my work. Most of the stuff on here is poems, but there's other work interspersed on the page. Feel free to leave any comments on my work. Twitter: @DickensianJack (Jack Dickens) Facebook: www.facebook.com/dickensianjack Cheers, enjoy.
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