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Children of War

I am the child of war;

Born by the breath of Violence

And by the death to which I swore.

My life is hardly my own;

These hands grasp hate in defiance

Yet my entity; my being, they disown

They rip my conscience from my soul.

How can I be called human

When I, myself, cannot control?

When I lose sight of existence,

And I’ve brought my home to ruin,

How can I return to silence?


Too young did we die.

Though our hearts still throb

Our lives, long ago did they crucify.

We cannot risk earnest tears,

Or dare a whispered sob

For we are humbled by our fears.

And in the wake of emotion

We may somehow live again

But ‘tis a strong man’s devotion;

For we are Children of war,

Born for torment's gain

And left at the devil’s door

I am lost here alone.

Alone with these broken vessels;

These empty eyes of Sins unknown

And my small, crippled fingers,

That have grasped too many weapons

Can never clasp the hands of others

For we are the children of War;

Born by the breath of violence,

And by the death to which we swore.

And we shall never be whole.

Not with man’s bloodied persistence.

For our essence of being your hatred stole

We are the children of your war

© 2016 Mae Hanson