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