The Bunker

I sit in the bunker,
And hope for the best,
The sirens have stopped,
And we count the rest.

If we count to ten,
And the engine’s still on,
Then the danger has past,
It has come and gone.

So I begin my count,
With my family and friends,
And at least if I die,
I won’t be alone in heaven.

One second has past
And a baby cries
Perhaps a prediction,
Of what ahead lies.

Two seconds have past,
And the tension is thick,
I grab my mother’s hand,
The clock continues to tick.

Three seconds have come,
And four have gone,
In our little bunker,
Out in the front lawn.

By the time we hit five,
We were half way there,
And six and seven
Went without a care.

But then we hit eight,
And the noises stopped,
We put our hands on our heads,
And beneath the bench drop.

As does the bomb,
As it falls from the sky,
Right on top of next doors,
I can hear them all cry.

I take myself out,
And look all around,
I’m the only one standing,
No one makes a sound.

21: 38 29/03/2006

(Sorry it's my first war-ish poem I know it's awful)

by Mordrid Harpoon

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