This Field

I stand here on this field on this sunny, Spring day.
Everywhere I look, I see my friends, my brothers, my fellow soldiers, all dead.
I look to the field, to the grass, where my brothers have fallen and know that it is green,
But all I see is the lifeless colors of yellow and brown.
I look at the trees beside me and know they are tall and proud,
But all I see is weeping branches, weeping for their lost souls.
I look to the sky and know that today it is blue, but all I see is Grey.
It's Grey for me and my slain brothers and family,
The family that was slain and burned by the Yanks.
I think of my family and home and my plantation that was once so beautiful.
I look around, but all I see is burned, black, dead, smoldering.
The smoke slowly rises into the grey sky from the ashes and cinders
Of my once beautiful home and my beloved parents, sisters, friends,
Burned!
Burned by General Sherman!
Burn by his hate and his demons!
God save him!... God save us!... God save me.
I look at my hand and see that it is red and wet and sticky,
Sticky from my own blood, blood from the wound in my shoulder,
A wound from the knife of a Yank,
The Blue-belly I killed to save my brother, my life, my land, myself.
I can not stay here any longer! I must go!
I can not bear to see anymore death, any more destruction.
I want to return home to the land I love and the life I once knew,
But that is all gone.
Why did they take it?
It meant nothing to no one, everything to me, my family, my friends.
I have nothing to return to, but I must leave.
I have no where to go, yet I can't stay.
Can't stay and see my friends maimed and my brothers killed
Then taken away in wagons to be thrown in mass graves.
That is no way for a good man to go!
No way for a man of God to be treated in his death!
I have no future, no where to look forward to going.
I speak with my friend, my brother, of what we shall do when it's over,
After this war is over and of going home,
But home is long gone and we both know it.
We speak of going West,
Of starting a new life in a new land and of farming, wives, children, life.
We speak of going West because we can not go back,
Back South to the life we once new.
We speak of not going back because we know that the end is near,
That the Yanks have won.
We do not speak it but we know we can never go anywhere but to our graves.
I stand here and look at this field of death and destruction.
I must stay and fight, but I can not fight anymore.
I can not feel anymore.
I can not see beauty anymore.
I want to feel sadness and pain, but I can not.
I want to feel love and joy, but I can not.
I do not think I can ever feel love or sadness again.
I know there is pain outside, but I can never show it.
I do not think I can ever cry,
Crying is something that has left me forever.
I have no way of ever letting loose of the pain inside.
I walk with the dead and know that I am one of them.
I must stay and fight, for it is all that I have.
I am strong! I am Proud! I am Rebel!
But I am tired.