War is waking up
to the sound of nothing
and knowing something is wrong.

It is the weight of the rifle
before your first shot,
and the silence after your last.

War is orders you follow
even when they bury
the part of you that hesitates.

It is names you forget
because remembering hurts more.

It's the letter you write
and never send.

War is not glory.
It is dirt in your mouth,
and a sky that never looks the same.

It lives in your boots,
in your sleep,
in the way you flinch
when someone drops a glass.

War ends on paper,
but not in body.