Beyond the Mason-Dixon line magnolias fade from bloom a mere memory as the brigades grow dividing and shaking the houses’ very foundation to the core
Fields of grasses yeild under heavy button boots with ragged soles as young boys march on and on unsteady with shaking hands and faith nearly broken
A portrait of black and white, of wronged and neglected rights, dogma chasing dogma simmering tensions coming to a point surrendering to many a sacrifice and melee
Laden heavy with worsted wet wool and leather plackets sticky with sweat and hidden fear staying only for a moment then fleeing into bravado for sake of freedom
Air heavily perfumed with the sickly sweetness of eluded hygiene and day’s old mud clumping together as if safer in numbers and heft
Long honed hard cold steely bayonets brush against icy bark cracking off limbs tripping breech loaders temporarily out of the arms of babes into battle bombardment
Windows of widowed souls left watching from afar from behind ratty lace curtains as the boys dart and dash from beneath matted hair scanning the hillsides for any brief encounter with sanctuary for just awhile
Barking marches ordered under guise of peace all the while tearing them to pieces boasting colonels act as braggarts often must do, bullying valor to stand at attention with intent masterfully trained untarnished standing their ground righteously relentless
Pining for days gone by, these young bucks, for the recent past of warm hearth homesteads, motherly touch and hot home cooked meals
Now, the young wide-eyed innocents take direction unquestioning authority for a cause
Humanity quickly stripped stark and bare stippling into piles as the stench of burning hair and flesh rises up through the air thick and heavy trampled under foot
These young bucks brawny beyond belief committed to the cause of their uniformity although you would never know it by the look in their eyes
With peaches and cream on freckled faces still plump with baby fat they yelp a rebel yell and descend into their innocence lost
It seems to them that it was only yesterday they surveyed the family acreage scattering crows from off the corn harvest under the pie-eyed moon
Pyramids of hay bales lay curing on the fields hiding needles and swooning ladies with button down shoes and small brimmed feathered hats
Or perhaps they were just herding cattle coaxing a lone rogue calf back to the barn after a lazy grazing day and crossing rivers but, nay, this fresh hell was reality now
After the smoke and dust settle circling carrions on high exposing their hungry underbellies and soot black wings intent upon
Yonder pile of boys, buttons, boots and bloodied uniforms lay refuse to get up ever again
Truth of the matter is life has been disposed like rubbish in hoards
Handcuffed to honor, death hangs thick and heavy on these hills
All for the sake of freedom
The dogs of war handed their lives to them only it was on a tarnished platter
Duty, honor love and war do indeed have costly price few choose to pay readily
Lives short-lived in the name of life
Because of boys to men we have this day
Ours is ours to live on and on
Because of them, that is,
Yet for many, that was their last, they have no more days
We owe homage to those boys of honor; they became men for us
We are free to live our lives because they gave up theirs’
We indeed have freedom but aye, at what cost?
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