Civil War - Poem by Kyra Amaeda
As I emerge from my tent so early and sleepless,
Slowly I walk in the cold fresh air on the path near by the hospital tent.
There I see three forms on stretchers, bought out and lying untended.
Curious I halt and stand a moment,
Then with callous light fingers I, from the face of the first nearest, just lift the blanket;
Who are you elderly man so grim and guant, with well-silvered hair, and flesh all sunken about the eyes?
Who are you my fellow comrade?
Then I step to the second - and who are you young child and comrade?
Who are you sweet boy with cheeks yet blooming?
Then to the third I step - a face not young nor old, very calm and cool, as of beautiful yellow-white pearl;
Young man I think I know you - I think I'm face to face with Christ himself, Brother of all even though dead and divine, and again here he lies.
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