The Colors Of Freedom

We face each other.
The distance shorter with each day
Each cloaked in the stench of death

Cannon, silent but alert, line the hills
Their voice kills my brothers
Who like me, struggle to survive another day
Each believing God is on our side

Why did it come to this
The hate, the destruction, the finality
We are but men
We fight, we bleed, we weep

Freedom the cause, the destination
All men created equal
Die so we shall live

Terror my constant companion
The scent of fear abounds
I am not alone

I’ve seen too much
Fingers of death rip  us apart
Life’s fragments strewn across the fields

A small boy, hollow eyes
Old beyond his years
Stands with his drum

Like a dirge, the beat
Calls another soldier to the field
Calls another soul to heaven  

I am weary Lord
My body and mind both broken
I clutch the icy hand of despair

Will You grant another sunset
Or does my journey near its end
Which brother will I join upon the morrow

About oldmainer

I am a retired manager living in Southern Maine and a would be writer of poetry, narratives, short stories, and random opinions, and that's how Oldmainer was born. Recently, I decided to try an experiment. I added photography to the mix, using only a cheap cell phone with a limited camera and the editing software that came with it, and added the blog site Inklings at to showcase the results. So, feel free to use whatever you find interesting or worthy, but please honor the terms of my copyright when and if you do. They may not be much, but they are still a piece of me. I appreciate your checking me out and hope that you find something that will encourage a return visit. Thanks for stopping by.
This entry was posted in Civil War, Death, Fear, Free Verse, Freedom, History, Loss, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to The Colors Of Freedom

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