Photo (by the way) (I couldn't think of anything better)

A photo.
It's shaking in my hand.
Four people
Look at me smiling.
How long
Is that from?

I.
So small on it.
Almost fragile.
So light as a feather.
Often he has me
Simply through the
air
Whirled.
Now
I am tall
And alone.

My brother.
My mother.
My father.
They are all
Away.

The photo.
In a box
It rests.
Along with
Other things
The
Me to her
Recall.

At
The time
Before the
Noise,
The screams
The blood
The bombs
The guns
And
The death.

It is not more than that.
Innocent
To die,
Without,
That respected
Becomes.

On the lid of the box
A quote,
From which the
truth
And so much
Speaks:

"There is no such thing as a war without victims."