The One Who Got Away

I was eight years old,

and everyone around me was dying. 

I wish I was younger so then I wouldn't

understand what war was. 

Now I'm twenty-six,

and everyone around me is dying

again. 

War is endless; history repeats itself. 

I wondered what would happen

if he ever came back and started it again,

Now I don't have to just imagine,

because here he stands torturing my mother

in front of my eyes. 

What happens when your own brother

walks over to the other side, 

and isn't not coming to family dinner anymore,

and your mother can't even come out of her room?

He was only twenty-one,

barley even lived

and he died. 

Who do I blame then?

When everyone around me is dying,

do I blame the ones who started the war?

Or do I blame myself

because I leave and I hide 

and I don't fight?

What do I say

to all of them

when I'm just the one who got away?