Dreams are made of this . . . perhaps
reading is the trigger, who knows!
This time I found myself in a
Confederate camp in days of yore.
I was obviously a nurse of some kind.
All around me, fighting raged.
I could sense, more than see, soldiers
falling where they stood, even as they
fired. 'Midst the smoke, I found myself
almost overcome by the scent of battle.
I remember the sense of helplessness
I felt, an actual knowledge of some
kind that anything I could do would
never be enough.
I longed for a tent in which to tend
the wounded. I yearned for water for
cleansing. Yet, all I could do was
stitch with no sedative. Running out
of gear, I recall even using the hem
of my uniform to wipe away blood.
My heart is filled with sorrow. My
cheeks are wet with tears and my
brain whispers, "Why oh why do
we still engage in war?"
Not quite sure I'll ever feel the same
about red and blue . . . so glad I only
wear black!
wipe away my tears
erase my pain ere i die
pray sing me a song
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