The Writers' Circle

This empty house so full of pain,
Brings tears upon my eyes,
These rooms once filled with love and care,
Expose only the lies.

Children have wept more today,
Than the years they've been alive,
Blood covers the hands of those,
Who were lucky to survive.

Memories of pain and fear,
Will never leave their minds,
The hate they've seen will desolate, 
Any happiness they find.