The War Zone
For the rage of war
What the sword pleads to do so more
For the burning that eats the core
To glory, they swore
To the flaming sky
It’s a chime, a cry
The pride will not so easily die
If embraced the truth we could fly
To grab ahold of what is mine
If there is bloodshed to what eyes they shine
Between victory and death, let us draw a thin line
And after may everything be fine
If only then will the brightened world be free
A crash to what leaves a mess of spilt tea
Scatters send a chaos to the course of a flee
For what an end would take I plead
An inked brush is used to write
A screaming sword is used for the murder of the night
To what the figure drew, rising to full height
A break, a mistake, an accident that leaves my world white
In a rising heat dusted by mud
A flower is unable to bud
From afar there is a killing flood
It’s the beating heart we drown with crud
To the demon eating inside us, we offer the enemy’s blood
-Nina
Of Nightingales That Weep By: Katherin Paterson 