The last children

Words of many lost are eteched into the broken mirror
reflecting the action of the ball going up
and comming down
the steady gentle slap
that the ball makes upon the concrete
cooming back up into small innocent hands
can be heard everywhere in the ruins of the hospital
broken down by bombs and wars
deaths and many lost souls
another lays on the blackened grass
the only thing in an otherwise black and white scenery
of smoke and white bulidings
falling and crashing
silently
That would be sky
or ground
or simply air
all of it is white,
filled with the tears
of innocent lives lost.
Both pale  milky white
with grey shaggy hair
both are the last
of the children

Their grey eyes follow
the ball`s slow
straight moments

Up
pause
down
Up
pause
down
repeating
over and over
Whipsering lullabies now forgotten to each other
lingering, almost like an echo in the ruins.
No wind or air to calm the lullabies away