you spit blood from your mouth with a grin,
it dribbles down your chin and though you wince,
there is a fire inside of you that cannot die.
darling, this is what war does to children.
say his name and you shall die,
speak against him and you shall die,
stupid mudblood, weak, pathetic, useless,
the insults bounce off you like a shield.
darling, this is what war does to children.
the magic coursing through your veins is tainted,
mudblood. mud blood. dirty. not pure.
despite the torture you have endured,
you seek peace. you seek justice.
darling, this is what war does to children.
there is no way you’ll survive this war.
your friends know it, and hell, you know it too.
but you move on, you learn, you grow.
now you do not need the nurse because
your nimble fingers work expertly on the gashes.
curses and counter-curses run through your mind,
but you smile. you show all your teeth.
it is not kind.
darling, this is what war does to children.
did you not hear merlin scream in anguish
as the world got torn in two, split apart by the
good or the bad?
classmates are turning into weapons of war,
soldiers fighting for the order or for voldemort,
there is no in between. no middle ground.
darling, this is what war does to children.
classmates drop like flies, hope is crushed,
life is diminished. but you endure. you move on.
not today, death. you say.
(but instead, maybe another day)
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