My Race

The wind rushes through my hair
Harsh, violent, cold. …unforgiving,
I stop to watch the dying embers in the metal trashcan,
The eerie orange glow illuminates my face;
Highlighting the grime and dust caked on it.
In an alley a young child cries ,
They go unanswered.
Crimson rivers flow .....unchecked.
Another explosion in the vicinity, rocks the meager shelter
Contorted steel shapes pass in a blur
I run to escape the shelling.
Fear rises up, like bile in my throat
Every sound, and movement adds
To the ever mounting tension.
I stand still as the last of the planes flies by
Craters, debris, blood and bodies ,mangled remains of buildings,
Left in its wake.
As the siren sounds,
I know they are done… for the day.