PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

    









A tip of your hat, to show chivalry is not yet dead.

Although people may look at you and see otherwise.



Your frail body and tattered clothing force everyone to believe what newspaper had said.

The South had lost, the north had won.



You watched as your brothers fell and where stacked with the rest of the fallen.

Degraded and Lost, you walk through a small town that stares at you with sympathy.



There is no food left for a solider.

They fear what the Yankee may do.



Bits of and water from a well is what you consume as you go an your way.

The pain in your stomach should not be felt by a man who served his country.



But a man you are not.

A boy of only seventeen who wanted to live to be so much.



Frustrated and Tiered you sit on an stone and you feel the carved words with your finger tips.





    "Tom Loves Elizabeth"



You cannot see them, the bullet from the rifle had blinded one of your eyes and the other was blue and swollen from the beatings.

But tears can still fall from sore eyes.





Your hand held tight to your chest.

Holding something precious.



You remembered that Elizabeth had made it for you.

And you die with that memory in your mind.



The Northern solider had shot you in the back of the head.

He tore your hand away from your body and scoffed at what he saw.



Your love had made you that Confederate flag that he threw into the fire.

And he shook his head wondering.





How could a dead man still be smiling?