- Maybe when the battle is over I can pity the man
- Whose Armies marched into my country
- Raped and pillaged across my lands
- But for now I must steel my heart.
- I look at the army arrayed on this hill
- Proud flying banners young naive soldiers
- Brave, they don't know how brave, till they die
- And already I can see them in the places they will lie.
- I see them where they are standing, and I see them where they lie
- Bent and broken things and blood every where.
- They call this romantic, but for this grizzled hair I've had it.
- I feel no glory, only shame. I sigh.
- Maybe when the battle is over and the dead are buried
- And this man and his armies are running, defeated and hurried.
- I'll be able to try and understand his anger and his hate.
- But I am standing with my army and the hour is drawing late.
- And I must sound the horn to charge.
- And now I go to my fate.
- By Christopher H. Holte, channeling someone elses memories
Thoughts on politics, economics, life and creative works from the author including poetry
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