Nomansland

The boy had eyes
of rarefound beauty
and a face
whose softness
tugged on strings
of early years
gladly recalled.
There was a fence
of razorwire
'round the villas
to keep them in
and others out
he wondered WHY.
He had no friends
on his own side
no mates to play with
he was the colour
of the devil's evil tribe.
His eyes now squinted
changed their shape
from cannon roundness
to slits of terror
and of pain anticipated.

by Herbert Nehrlich

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