Hundred Souls with One Scythe

It has been a month of violence 
Unfair, unkind, unjust
The world is watching like eighty years ago
Lives dissipate into dust.
It has been a month of terror.
New day, but old atrocities
The Russists have turned to siege warfare,
Bashing cities from ground and air.
Death rushed from the sky through the windows
No more selections 
- hundred souls with once scythe 
Somewhere under rubbles breathing corpse
A ghost. Still alive. 
Children come under fire from a besieged smoking town 
Little souls tormented by war.
Standing numb, standing still as though no one’s around 
But a cry of violin from pain within the core. 
Empty streets full of skirting debris,
From gun shells and missiles
Distant screams from the ground by the Black Sea
Gone in a swirling fog of war, 
Leaving behind a lonesome whistle.