America, unveiled in frugal agendas

secreted in roots of regal cypress

terminal in nature, resounding.

There has died and been buried,

a man so little known,

his flock of fledglings, so rarely

returned, echoed youthful

calls and whistles across spirits

of tomorrow. Young men beating

chests of perpetual, salacious sentiments, heralding: patriotic, passionate, eternal,

pestilent, dogmatic, sick. Hopeless aptitude lost

in pits, in trenches, in arrogant proposal,

monuments of soils erected

in earnest, divided in expectation,

by a standard of worthiness.

Casting shadows like youthful sorrows upon barren grounds such are souls.

The ringing charges they powdered

in optimistic principle besiege

timeless yods of heroism

laid upon an altar for remembrance.

A Hymn of servitude now sung

there, for those crushed beneath

crops of civility. Lecherous fathers

battling the sick condition of men

harvested on Little Round Top,

down Devil’s Den,

in the Best Western

Quality Inn.

every bone in glory

rest there.

Sumter, Gettysburg, Sherman's March,
Battles and fights, lives lost
Because of differences along the people.
Aren't people supposed to be different?

We, as a country, are not meant
To agree.
To belong in one room, repeating the same thing.
We will change the words.
Say them in a different order.
And men will die because of those words.
Those exact thought patterns.
Rights and laws are perceived
In different ways,
As well as morality.  

When it all began at Sumter, no one died.
It was a statement. A declaration of war.
At Gettysburg, it was a trick. A chilly,
Silly idea. And it was used to make
One of the greatest statements about war
Ever to leave someone's lips. Honoring
The dead and the living. The country and the people.
And the turning point of the fight between brothers.
Sherman's March was a move made by
The union as a mode of total war. Supply lines were cut and
Victory for the north was guaranteed.
Railroads were destroyed, towns were raided, and
Rebels were pushed east.
They had lost.