This Field of Fratricide

Sit and look out, as Whitman once did.
Look upon this grassy meadow of green.
See the thick, oaken forest brown standing rigidly to its right.
Spot the worn red farm house in the distance, up the subtle slope.

Now, look upon the short wall of stone far to the left.
Direct your eyes to the men clad in dark blue, kneeling behind it, their rifles they bear loaded and waiting.
Behold the horse drawn cannons of black.
Watch as the forest brown turns to a mass of gray as new men approach.

Gaze as these new men march forth in their gray, holding the same rifles as their blue counterparts.
Stare in shock as the blue dressed men behind the wall reveal themselves to fire their guns.
Fix your eyes upon each man of gray as they are cut down and those that survive the barrage return fire.
Dumb stuck, watch as both sides trade shots in rapid succession, more men falling with each crack of a rifle.
Inhale the gun smoke, feel the ground tremble, and search desperately for the moisture that once inhabited the mouth.

Observe the truth of the days when countryman slaughtered countryman.
American killed American.
And brother fought against brother.

Witness the carnage upon this field of fratricide.