The voices on the breeze, they call to me,
Wisps of words tingle my Spirit,
Touching me with short, shimmering strokes -
Visions of you and I back to back,
Swords drawn in the dusk,
Cannon fire ringing the death knell,
Sending so many to their knees, others flying,
But you and I, in the gray and blue,
We push through.
Sky on fire as the earth shakes,
I see her in the distance, our once proud city aflame,
Burning to the ground as we slice and stab,
Barely a thought of all those fleeing their homes -
One thought plays over and over in my mind…Live,
Live, Live, Live…
We’re in the trenches, wounded, soaked in blood,
Both in red now, quickly drying to black,
"Fall back, Fall back!"
The men rush toward us, leaping down,
Scurrying ants before the onslaught,
Arms and legs entwined, broken, missing…
Blood flowing, mixing, staining the earth
(No one notices your uniform).
The smell of Death hovers over us,
The stench of defeat a whisper to contend with,
And yet, the joy of breath in our lungs burns,
It burns a hole in our Souls so deep and so wide,
None can speak of the horrors of living
While the others die.
Dena L Moore
April 12, 2008
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Be always safe,
Karen
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.