Honour - Poem by Gerard Geiger

The official charge had been given.
Over the fields the men were driven.
Fragments of metal, hurled through air,
smote them down and buried them there.

A red stream flowed across the plain.
Upon its banks the battle waned.
Discharging muskets, so often repeated,
barked with no mercy at the defeated.

At dusk the somber scene lay still.
The night cast down its dark death chill.
No warmth was found on that field.
The dead no longer push or yield.

Outlined by the moon a soldier stood
on a hill overlooking the field of blood.
The stars of night were gleaming brightly.
Those on his shoulders were tarnished slightly.

Shaking his head, with his arms opened wide,
trying to embrace those who had died.
Brave soldiers all, he had commanded;
now lay still with justice demanded.

Muttering a curse and heaving a sigh,
he grasped the pistol at his side.
Placing the muzzle against his head,
he repented; then left to join the dead.

Gerard A. Geiger Dec 21, 1976

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