by Katherine Gotthardt Through your ageless eyes, I understand your replies to what you most fear: trembling from the tip of the fuse to the cannon's opening, the rip in the air of civil war, tear in the veil that lies: 'there is but one truth.' You can never know for sure where the dying go, leaving us the rot. Only those mindless enough not to think are not distressed at our hot blood seeping from wounds to grass, to dirt, to cold stones, to earth's heart below, union of bodies with things we cannot see, and more we will not know. ______________________________ From Poems from the Battlefield Copyright 2009, Katherine Gotthardt All Rights Reserved
