Poem: After the Bombs

On my back is a backpack, flavored rucksack

holding pictures of the past

canned food and your signature, saying “I’ll see you

again someday,” but it doesn’t matter

much anymore, for the world is fire

poison and knives, no one is

safe even for a moment

anymore, but I promise to you

and my descendants knowing my heart,

that after this is over, I will carry

your heart in mine again, for war cannot kill

the realities of the world, love in desolation

still shining like it’s colorized.

Poem: After the Bombs