The Dark

A clock chimes,

High above them,

They rush out,

In a haze,

As they look at the heavens with fear.

They hear the ‘whirrr’ of the alarms,

The low droan of planes,

And they run,

Scared.

They sit underground,

Safe,

In the dark,

All alone,

Waiting.

Above them,

The planes leave,

And the sun comes out,

To reveal the damage,

Again.

Every day,

And every night,

They wonder,

“Will I be here tomorrow?”