“Can’t you see the soldiers running?”
She asks as we pass the perfect rows of trees,
Balded by the winter,
But still beautiful,
Captivating,
As for miles my eyes are glued
And it hurts to tear them away
When our path leads far from their territory.
Never before had I found it so hard
To leave a place I’d never been,
To part with barren giants whose twisted fingers
Made me nostalgic for a past
Known only through a stranger’s pictures.
“Can’t you see the soldiers running?”
I wonder as I peer out longingly at these morose creatures.
My heart aches to fathom
The possibility that this place
May have once not been beautiful –
Crimson-coated bodies ran, and fell, and
Stopped,
And stained these hallowed grounds
With the sickening colors of
Patriotism and treason.
What beauty is there in that?
No, I can’t see the soldiers running.
I can’t see anything but the present
And my stranger’s pictures.
Ignorance is bliss,
And now the trees are gone.
Very good. Dark; last two lines are my favorite. Especially the last one.
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