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Sara King


Clearfield, UT, US

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The Twinkle In My Eye.


Sara King

There are pretty things upon the world
that I adore very much,
but the things I love the most you see
are not upon this earth.
You must look up to see these things
and should be away from city lights;
among the spruce and pines.
The things I love the most are:
Stars, and Moons, and Planets rings.
I love Galaxies and Big Dippers, Orions,
and those wings.
All the things against the sky, are
the twinkle in my eye.

Three Days in Hell


Sara King


Dear Ida Jacobs,

I write with a full heart.
We have not yet pushed
The Yankees bastards
Back to their holes.
But we will forever push,
And we will succeed.
For our fight is a far greater fight.
For every one of our men
Who are brought down
Two of theirs fall.
I see Victory
My heart swells with pride
With every advance we make
Knowing that I do this for you
And our country.
I am a proud man Ida,
I am fighting for a unity
That cannot abide in a whole.
Lincoln thinks that we must
Stay together and become a
"United States" once more,
But together as one nation means
That unity will run only
As deep as the ink on this page.
I must make an end to my writing
I am sorry.

Thinking of you and a new county blessed by God,
Richard Birmingham.
July 1, 1863
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

My dearest Patricia,

I am not the same brother you knew
Two long months ago when I enlisted.
No man could live through this
Madness and not change.
It is sickening to see what I have seen here.
I have been cut off from the world in a circle of Hell fire.
A world of shells and mortar,
Bullets hissing,
Shells humming,
Cannons roaring!
Every shirt is soaked in sweat.
Many, soaked in blood.
Sleeves rolled up, faces blackened.
No regard for life.
I do not believe I will ever recover from this sickness,
This permanent state of nausea.
I watch a black shadow
Shift over the battlefield.
Over the putrid bodies
Of comrades,
Over these so called enemies,
Over friends, over brothers.
I do not cry anymore,
I do not believe I can.
Pray for me! Pray that my soul may recover,
Or if not,
Pray that I may join them in that shadow.

Your Brother
Gavin O’Shea
July 2, 1863
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, Little Round Top

My Sweet Marie

When I think of you, I hold my breath.
I wish so much that I could be holding you now.
Instead I must carry this cold bayonet.
I cannot tell you of what I have witnessed,
Or of what I have heard.
That is one burden I cannot share with you,
One that cannot be put upon tender shoulders.
I have seen the dreadful carnage,
And have often found myself
Plunging into despair.
For we fight more than just the rebel forces,
You are my saving grace,
You are what pulls me up,
And buoys my soul from this rot
That seems to hover over us,
That seems to follow us.
Yet it has not penetrated my skin,
For it is protected by your love.
I pray to see you soon,
But for now I can dream of you,
And be at peace.

Forever yours,
Joshua Taylor
July 3, 1863
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

Generic Rosary


Sara King

They spoke of sanguine beauty.
They drank dirge to its strength.
Used, besmirched, now changed.
A generic rose was bred.

Some sanctimonious fix it.
Arranged and auctioned off.
Defenses stripped and shaved.
A generic rose was bred.

The towering price was set.
The sodden petals tarnished.
A pandorous tear is shed.
For this a generic rose was bred.