A Maternity Ward in Mariupol
Held tight against the breast
the infant naively sucks
while her mother hums
soothing sounds
drowning
out the sound of mortar shells,
hell
raining from the sky.
Eyes look deep into eyes
and all that matters in life
is wrapped up together.
Held tight,
but not tighter than death’s grip,
which clutches
the moment
burying it
under rubble.
A maternity ward sits silent
as hell continues
to seep its way onto earth,
eviscerating
hope in its grasp.
And the world
fails
to notice its advance.
Give God Your Yes 