Thanks to the fine criticism of a good friend, the poem featured in my last post has been revised. One poem has become two.
Still, I Tremble
July 20, 1861
A force has gathered,
mighty enough to fracture
Achilles’ spirit. Lincoln presses us
to blood and battle;
we are his dogs. Gen. McDowell
will unleash us, but he unbinds
a legion of pups. Tonight,
I dread not death. It will visit
me when it wills. Still, I tremble.
As a Moth
July 20, 1861 – Entry II
Soon, fate will call me to lead,
to carve the battlefield with my courage,
and rally these boys with each drum
of my heart. As a moth follows a flame
to its death, I fear I’ll usher my charge
into hell’s foulest fire.
- On the Eve of Bull Run (thelintinmypocket.wordpress.com)