that first month
four weeks
I could hardly think straight
think of something
worthy
to rhyme
to write
all those
blood thirsty bombs
mortal missiles
falling
screaming
far off
crippling Ukraine
undeserving
destroying lives
steal away
all my inspiration
dissect what is left
a painful vacuum
right in my being
my centre
squarely filled
with bitter anger
roundly followed
by constant sorrow
when it is survival
because everything
has been destroyed
utterly depleted
when people are defeated
when security and bounty
has retreated
even if we beg and borrow
what ever will come
odd reeling
even if there is
yet another steely
rank tomorrow
even a final
fatal sum

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