Field Of Battle Poem by Kurt Hearth

I walked the field of battle,
eerie silence accompanied me.
The bitter odor of confrontation,
lingered mutely in the air.

I trod where warriors clashed.
Did my imagination soar, or.
Could I hear in the quiet,
sounds of dying souls?

Everywhere I stepped, I touched,
mute tokens of conflict.
Haunting evidence of siege.
I shuddered as the chill of fear caressed me.

On scorched earth a helmet laid.
What account might it cradle?
Who once had been its owner?
Had it been discarded, or orphaned?

An empty boot, a broken blade,
a long gun supported by bayonet.
Dented helmet graced the butt.
Had once young hero rested here?

In this field of battle,
‘midst smoke, fire, screams.
Did valor accompany fear,
and violence cultivate history?

What lie hidden, covered,
in these now so silent meads?
Were fainthearted to become hero,
had victors, and vanquished, dwelled together?

I wondered,
as I walked the field of battle.

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