The Hungry Field
By Kane McDermott
An open field sits green with life.
The grass rustles along the vast field
encased in tree line.
God lets out a sigh
of disappointment.
An overcast sky hides
the innocent sun from the scene.
The men,
standing on two sides of the field, wait
for the command. All holding muskets,
but wearing different coats, they wait.
Waiting to know when it’s time for
man to kill, and sentence brothers
to death.
The men stand.
Some boulders, some shrubs in the wind.
A call and an erect flag;
the infantries collide.
Lead whizzes across the field.
White tourniquets soaked in crimson fluid
as men hit the ground.
Piercing bayonets are driven into warm guts
of flesh, incase the flying lead missed its mark.
From outside the field,
smoke and soot are
all that can be seen. Screams and faint
pleads for mercy are all that can be heard.
Inside the smoke,
the only smells
were of gunpowder and searing flesh.
Once all is silent
and bodies lay in grass,
the field sits soaked in heartache.
The sky clears and the sun is exposed to
the grueling aftermath of battle.
Light touches the face of lifeless men.
Eyes open and mouths screaming
they sit and decompose, until the
field has finished eating.
Fertile ground helps the wounds heal.
Time passes and no scars are left.
Time passes and the field sits green
with life.
KANE ANTHONY 