The Cry of a Child
A little girl runs through the streets,
A small bundle clutched to her chest.
Houses on fire,
Rubble all around,
Everywhere around her a mess.
“Mama! Papa!”
Her cry goes unanswered,
The thunder crashes in response,
Around her people are frantic,
While others weep from their tragic loss.
And to those that come close,
A simple question she will ask,
Her voice is full of hope,
As she goes about her fruitless task.
“Mama! Papa! Have you seen them?”
Some ignore her as they start to run,
While others continue to weep,
But after time they all get up,
To leave behind the castle and its keep.
Then the rain begins to fall,
The raindrops they hide her tears,
While a column of war torn soldiers march by,
She cries in sadness and despair.
“Mama! Papa! Where are you?”
The soldiers continue their marching,
Some look at her with pity in their eyes,
She doesn’t care; does not dare,
As she searches beneath that dreary sky.
The thunder roars across the sky again,
A loud wail emanates from the bundle in her arms,
As she rocks the bundle back and forth,
She yells as if to reach the stars.
“MAMA! PAPA! WHERE ARE YOU!?”
A man walks beside the column,
His armor completely ruined,
A tattered cape flows out behind him,
But still his presence is awe-inspiring.
He hears the girl’s cry of despair,
And watches as she sinks down to her knees.
She tries her best to comfort the child,
As she softly starts to plead.
“mama…papa…where are you…”
The man he stops beside her,
And the soldiers all come to a halt,
But as he kneels to help her,
He signals them to move on.
He extends his hand out to her,
And his voice is soft and low,
Telling her it’s no longer safe here,
And that they desperately need to go.
“mama…papa…”
She raises her head, looks up at him,
Her eyes full of sorrow and fright,
And her hand reaches out for his,
Seeking his comfort and his might.
He takes the baby in his right arm,
And he extends his left hand to her,
Then they begin their long journey,
That will change their lives forever.
They make their way down ruined streets,
Past homes that are now empty,
She spots a teddy bear among the ruins,
Picks it up and holds it tightly.
The man he smiles a sad smile,
Knowing her need for comfort and support,
He then notices the gate a few feet away,
As they abandon the city to the Horde.
They finally walk out through the gates,
With other survivors all around,
Expressions of terror, sadness, of loss,
As they all abandon their home now.
But as they leave the fallen city,
She takes a look back once again,
Hoping to see what is no longer there,
A home where her family had lived in.
“Mama…Papa… …”
This is one of the earliest poems I ever attempted to write when I became more serious in becoming a writer. It is also the longest one that I have ever created. It isn’t great, but I still feel a sense of pride whenever I read it. Which is very rare for me whenever I read anything that I write.
After all, I never have been good when it comes to poetry. Just look at the first stanza of the poem. It sets the tone or rhythm, but doesn’t set the structure for the rest of the stanzas. So as much as I wish I could be as great as Lord Alfred Tennyson, Emily Dickinson, Edgar Allen Poe, Homer, or William Shakespeare. I fear that my talents will never reach those heights. But it doesn’t mean I can’t try.
For me, my biggest weakness is that I am a blunt and literal person in real life. And those traits follow me into the realm of poetry. I just can’t create nuance or a deeper meaning when I write a poem. I want it to be as clear and understandable as possible. But I also want to convey a story of some kind. Which is why I am proud of “The Cry of a Child.” I feel that it is able to tell not just a story but also convey the emotion of the child.
At least, I hope it does.
What is interesting is that the poem was inspired by a small little picture from a video game manual. For those who have played the Warcraft RTS franchise, that picture should come to your mind (then again, I am probably one of the rare people who actually read the manual before playing the game). But for those not familiar with it, the picture was in the Warcraft II manual depicting Sir Anduin Lothar leading the survivors from Azeroth.
I loved the franchise’s story and when I saw that picture for the first time, the words just started to form in my mind. And so a first draft of the poem was quickly written down. It was a free-form poem without much rhyme or rhythm to it and, over the next two years, I continued to work on the poem. Even now, I will still tinker with a word here or there.
I have to say, though, that bringing up this poem makes me sad. Because Blizzard is not the company it used to be. I have been boycotting the company ever since Diablo 3 and with the recent debacle involving Blizzard, Hong Kong, and China I doubt I will ever go back to the company. Still, I can say thank you for the times I had playing Starcract, Warcraft, World of Warcraft, and Diablo.
Perhaps one day Blizzard will be able to go back to being the great developer that it once was.
Yet I am not done with this poem. There are new websites for writers and innovative resources that I might take advantage of to see if I can add another dimension to this poem. Or bring it to life. Who knows?
But feel free to let me know what you think.
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