A Boy in the Bombing
It was a factory once.
Before it closed.
Before it was boarded up.
Before the roof leaked,
the beams rotted
and it all fell in,
resembling one of those historic pictures
of World War Two, the bombings,
devastation in every direction,
waiting for the fire
that will consume what is left.
It is the hardest lesson to learn
for someone like yourself,
wanting, like a child, to believe
all things are made new as you.
Even when you know better,
you cling to that one bit of your childhood
like a boy in the bombing
clinging to his teddy.
About this poem
We all have seen the images of the bombings from World War Two, or from the rubble left by storms in Tornado Alley, or…… Physical, mental and emotional trauma. They are crushing. We want to believe it will be all right. At times it will be. Sadly, at other times, it will never be.
And that is hard to accept. For me at least. Some wounds don’t heal.
PS – the picture is of an abandoned factory in Turner’s Falls, Mass. A few years after taking that picture, it burned.
I lived in London till I was 8 and remember the bomb sites well. My brother who was older went to play in them with his friends and got into much trouble with Mum. I just looked at the shells and imagine the people who had been inside.
Sometimes people’s comments to my poems are way more interesting than my poems. This one for instance.