Never had a chance.
Always making people glance.
Their smell is nose scrunching
The sight stomach hurling
Their skin surely as cold as ice
Their color as black as the mice
Never with a proper goodbye
No one in exception,
Whether if you were a girl or a guy.
Hundreds of them still missing,
Our government barely doing anything.
Frozen lined up on the streets,
Still and unmoving,
Covered in sheets.
Taken by Haiyan.
But not forgotten.
One of the hardest parts of being a survivor, is seeing those who were not lucky enough to pull themselves out of the deathly cold waters. Everyday I would see people passing by, with a body on a blanket, carried on their shoulders. The churches were lined up with the dead, and the morgue, running out of caskets, have no choice but to wait for the Department of Health to collect the bodies.
Frozen, they all are.