The devastation of the bombs fled throughout the country.
War camps arose in the same manner dandelions had once danced in the wind.
The population had been decimated and a thousand years would not be enough for the land to recover.
It is to this that I awake each day, and at night I lay to sleep, knowing that another day will bring no more hope than it did the day before.
I remember when my concerns were so foolish and carefree.
Then I was not concerned with my next meal, I was not afraid that soldiers would come and tear away all that i loved.
Now I awake to a desolate sky filled with the smoke of the bombs that are sent to us each day.
I rise to work in fields that bear only poisonous seeds, and can no longer bear the food that is needed to survive.
Day by day, existence is harder.
Sometimes it seems as if all the world were surrounded by a gray fog.
When I go to sleep, I wonder if tonight will be my last day.
As I lay on the bed, the cough of the refugees beside me lull me to sleep, yet I wonder how long they will last.
Can they work another day? Can they last the night with the sickness upon them?
What reason do we live?
Is merely surviving this wasteland enough?
I wonder what reason we have to hope-
The laughter of the children who never knew a world that was not filled with the dangers of death?
The child who picks a death blossom as if it were the beautiful violet or morning glory?
The ones who inherit this awful world we have created?
These innocent creatures, what excuse can we give to them for this barren world we have made?