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tommy-jacksonPoems
In vicksburg national burial place of the dead A silence cradles the land Voices of the cemetery Loudly utter, words Stroking butter The sound is not Bland. The union sleep Still awake in their beds The rain never falls The rain is just as dead The civil war hasn't ended Cry the tears of seventeen thousand ghosts These souls are remembered By the vows that they took Sleeplessly haunting The visitors to their arrival The dead more than living Are awake to the grassy place so vital The war still goes on Though to us it has ended These men are still seen in their Clothing unattended Their plans ended shortly Their plans unamended This place awakes the voices Of the wars recommended
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May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
A sound of 17,000 ghosts
In vicksburg national burial place of the dead A silence cradles the land Voices of the cemetery Loudly utter, words Stroking butter The sound is not Bland. The union sleep Still awake in their beds The rain never falls The rain is just as dead The civil war hasn't ended Cry the tears of seventeen thousand ghosts These souls are remembered By the vows that they took Sleeplessly haunting The visitors to their arrival The dead more than living Are awake to the grassy place so vital The war still goes on Though to us it has ended These men are still seen in their Clothing unattended Their plans ended shortly Their plans unamended This place awakes the voices Of the wars recommended
tommy-jackson
Written by
tommy-jackson
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
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