The War Poem by chris schwartz

When you can't hold my hand
On the very last day
I am on this earth
Before they put me
Away,
You will always remember
That you didn't win
This war.

Oh, the innocence,
The aftermath,
Of the sharp knife
At my throat.
Will never compare
To the empty hand
You have not to
Hold onto.
You are not
Forgiven.

I am restless
In the final days
Of my struggle
To erase you.
My breathing is heavy
With but hours
To live
Knowing you won't
Be able to hurt me
Anymore.
Go in your pity,
And leave my child
Alone.
For he is not like you.
He will never
Be like you.
And I can celebrate
With the candles
That glow upon his cake
That he is not.

I have raised him
To be all that you
Never were.