by Jennifer Cervella

The face is no longer lively and joyful
But apathetic and expressionless
The pink has left your cheeks
But when I come to visit, your brown eyes light up
A deep crimson bleeds from your mouth
Then you tell me that you were lined up on the field
The British marched closer
And you began to load Pumpkin’s musket
But you were shot before you could nail down a Redcoat
You are the definition of a Patriot
Your clean, white shirt is no longer solid white
But stained with blood, grass, and dirt
You wish that you could live to see the end of the revolution
The horse you used to ride now cries alone in his stable
He knows you are suffering
The gray sky overhead is an omen of your death
But we omit the fact that light creeps out
Of an ominous crack in the clouds
But as I try to regain my composure
You tell me to tell all of the family
You love them, and then I break apart
As I step outside, the smell of gunpowder is still in the air
And the green grass is still coated in dew
They treat you like a newborn child, although you are a man
"Someday, we’ll know how to stop bleeding like that"
He told me you died
And when I go back to the house, I see your printer’s apron
Splotched in black ink hanging on your hook

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Poem Copyright © 2003 by Jennifer Cervella


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