Southern Scar - poem
by- Patsy Jo Reed Sircy
The BLUE and GRAY are coming soon, to play the game of WAR,
Lines are drawn in mind again, and signal who you are;
Some fallen stars land in an X on plantations swept away,
The NORTH will play it to the hilt, with drum and fife, they say.
Creeks will once again run RED, but the River hides the BLOOD,
Romantics view the spoils in shades, masking bodies in the mud;
Every MOTHER's PULSE will SKIP, recall when SON KILLED SON,
BROTHERs FRACTURED FAMILY TIES, NEVER again to be AT ONE!
REAL WAR is made of BROKEN HEARTs, loved ones GONE from sight,
My eyes will watch with all the rest, yet my Soul SCREAMs in the night;
"How can you HATE my JOHNNY REB, cast him in a VILLAIN's part?
Astride a rearing, FIERY STEED, he's just FOLLOWING HIS HEART!"
The SOUTH will RISE AGAIN to FIGHT, pass in Honor, heads held HIGH,
To PAY TRIBUTE to the MEN we lost, KISS A WAY OF LIFE GOOD-BY;
A horse-drawn CARRIAGE takes us back, for one LAST forlorn LOOK,
Too VIVID for our GRANDPAs' LORE, MEMORIES not from book.
The BUGLE will sound "TAPS" again, for the SOUTH that died that day,
Big BROTHER of the BOYs who SLEEP, on the BLUE side of the GRAY;
An ECHO CHILLs our NEIGHBOR's SPINE, still reaches LANDs AFAR,
A PATCHed-Up RIFT with Jagged Edge, never healed, just grew a SCAR!
23 NOV. 1996