Bodies writhe in pain
along the grassy plain,
some mortally wooded and others fading away.
Such an atrocity for any man to bear,
as voices announce their dying end.
The battle has reached its final conclusion,
a morbid victory for the enemy which approaches.
One lone soldier lies face down,
face buried deep into the sodden ground.
He suffers numerous hits,
afflicted by the adversary’s rifle fire.
Unlike his fallen comrades though,
his injuries are not terminal.
He is merely dazed and knocked off his feet,
as he glares with hatred at the dusty blue coats
which continue to advance upon his fellow men.
His rounds long since spent
and his rifle now useless,
he acknowledges the futility of his predicament.
The closest brother to his side,
a young Southern flag bearer shot dead
while expressing his pride.
With one final fleeting burst of energy,
brought forth from the courage which flows within,
he picks up the fallen flag by his side
and charges the onslaught before him.
His determination driven by the burning fuel of thought,
that they can only murder their physical form,
but they can never take away the spirit which thrives within.
A spirit I am proud to say,
is as apparent in the South today,
as it was during that sad and fateful day.
Those who sacrificed it all for a cause they held dear,
will never be forgotten,
but remembered
as God is today.

by Heath Lee Turner