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He knew it couldn't be done,
but it was his ego that led the charge
that third day of July, 1863,
while the General merely took orders
from inside himself.

They were too far into North territory
to be victorious.
Encroaching on land that was free,
where the idea of slavery was spat upon
like bile in a spittoon.

He knowingly placed the men of his division
in the midst of a slaughter,
all for the right to keep humans in chains,
who's backs were deeply tattooed from leather.

How noble of them, the Southern soldiers,
willing to die for a cause, built upon
the ownership of those, 'darker skinned.'

Ironic, when in reality, most who died for their cause,
were not wealthy plantation owners,
but young men and boys,
who lived in two room cabins
no bigger than a slave's quarters.

But Pickett was cut from the higher society cloth
and saw this war as 'justified.'
He didn't count on the North's utter detest
at such a practice.

Nor did he consider their determination
to end it.

For true bravery does not lie in those men
willing to die for the right to own people,
but in those willing to die for it's demise,
those willing to abolish it
with their own blood.

So there he sat, Pickett, atop his fine horse,
in his fine uniform, with his fine, polished boots,
as he sent his men across the open field,
many in tattered clothes and shoeless.

They were decimated,
as they increasingly became disorganized
in the chaos of a loosing battle.

Pickett's Charge,
failed miserably,
as thousands lay prone in their blood.

With his righteous attitude,
he succeeded in the South's loss
at Gettysburg.

When it came time to face General Lee,
Pickett's mighty ego must have deserted him
during the battle, in cowardly fashion,
leaving him to absorb the toll of death
that weighed heavily upon his shoulders.

For the cock-sureness he possessed
that very morning,
was certainly absent as he faced Lee
and quietly spoke,

'Sir, I have NO division.'