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Poetry: Dark poems

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I am the ghost of Johnny Reb
I died at First Bull Run
A Minnie ball blew out my eye
I was not yet 21

I am the dead who are the ground
In Sharpsburg, Vicksburg too
We lay in piles akimbo
I was not yet 22

I am the ghost of Billy Yank
I lay on Marye's Hill
My friends were shot like cattle
Yet we charged those rebels still

I am the blue clad corpses
We lay with rictus' grin
Almost at attention
Before they put us in

Those graves both marked and secret
Near that killing field
The trenches now are silent
Where we our young lives yield

Now we are united
Blue, butternut, and gray
We lay asleep, unconscious
And the worms will have their way

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Poetry: Dark poems

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