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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Walk does he not the specter of death, His saith raised high, even he himself has had Enough killing, on the battlefield of Gettysburg, Satan screams, stop sons of men, truly war Is hell on earth. Time's spiritual voices cry out, as the wind Blows through the tall over grow grasses, Of this Pennsylvanian State park. Injured spirits, roam as phantom soldiers, Seeking salvation's reprieves preservation, From their damnation. On the Devil's Den reddened rock, centuries Still stand guard, knelling sharp shooters, Fire at will, as the drummers beat, at rhythm’s Death march. Gun powers burnt smell fills the air, As the loud canons echo in the distance, Mayhem's discord has left destruction's Bloodshed, these numbers estimation Of flesh and bone, are guessed yet it's Resolution unknown. Blown are the horns of Calvary’s call, Reinforcement’s sacred hesitating for aid, But none come to it's deadening's sounding. Mourn do the orphan's of war, in their fathers Name, so they do weep in sorrow remembrance. A war-ravaged companion, lead by freedom Seekers, the end to release bondage’s salves, Stain our great country with it's own blood. Brother against brother, two flags of belief Striking each other, north vs the south, Behold it was the American Civil War. A revolutionary uprising of idealism, That all man have the right to be free, And live without the chains of oppression. It is in this haunted place, at cemetery ridge, That the final battle lines are marked in Bloods deadliest charge ahead. Many souls still serve here, never shall They know the light of peace. BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
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