The Child of War.

Bloodied from battle I rose,
From the altar of death – above my silenced legion.
Tears never seen came streaming out,
At the sight of a gashed head and a broken nose.

Once my brothers; now they lay around me,
And all I could do was stare –
At blown up houses, and uprooted trees;
At the pale faces and the rotting debris.

I looked at our flag – upright and tall,
We had won the battle, yet lost the war.
Countless women and children lying around,
A severed hand clutching a ragged doll.

It happened ages ago; that day,
And though the world celebrated my death with mournful silence;
Not medals,
But guilt decorated the grave where I lay.

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