Works From The Wise Ol' Hillbilly |
© 1990, R.E.Dalton
A battlefield is much more than just a place where human beings are maimed and slain. It is a gory billboard whereupon the colossal stupidity of mankind is displayed before the universe.
War is never necessary. Resistance is necessary, but only as a last resort for stopping a butchery already begun. It is incomprehensible, after so many millions have been slaughtered, that men still persist in the horrible aspiration to destroy one another. Consider what is really lost.
Each person's mind, whether they be rich or poor, large or small, genius or moron, contains invaluable treasures of experience and thought which can never be replaced. There are dreams that, if nurtured and preserved, might solve problems which have plagued mankind from time's beginning. There are visions of great masterpieces of art and literature which will never be created; knowledge precious to humanity that only one soul possessed. All destroyed. The inventory is limitless.
"The Seventh Day" dawns on a place of such terrible destruction. But on this battlefield, wisdom prevails over hatred. Here, a great lesson is learned... if only the story were true.
In the morning air you could hear the clack Of retraction levers snapping back And safety catches opening death's cell door. The early sun was having fun Bouncing sparkles off the guns Of a hundred men in green prepared for war. In a wooded glen across the way A hundred others dressed in gray Prepared a violent charge 'gainst those in green. Their bodies tired, their clothing torn, Their bearded faces gaunt and worn, Spurred on by unknown force that none had seen. For six days now, the shot and shell Had plunged them into man-made hell And the dawning of the seventh had arrived. A gentle breeze rose from the west And stroked the torn and battered breast Of the bitter brae that bled as though alive. A thousand dead, and maybe two, Lay strewn beneath the morning dew In horrid gestures, stiffened, stark and still. But the scene portrayed, a lesson told, For though they rested white and cold, They lay "together" there upon the hill. Amid the rows of fallen gray The dead in green there also lay As though reclining leisurely in the sun. A ghostly aura there suggested They weren't dead, but only rested Side by side in friendship, every one. Death bears no grudge, the silence claimed; No malice stood amid the maimed And no such thing as conflict, friend or foe. They reclined resigned to a fact of fate; What once was enemy now was mate, For all had gone where every man must go. The dead leaves tumbled 'cross their chests And found no hatred in their breasts, For all was placid now, and death serene. No hand was raised in anger there Amid the quiet morning air, Just peace and coexistence played the scene. The dead in green cared not that day That his arm embraced the man in gray And the gray did not rebuke the green's caress. No prejudice rose 'gainst shade of skin Or shape of eyes, or birth or kin Or creed or size, or type or style of dress. Not one dead body cringed or shied From another lying by his side Or paid a heed to the uniform he wore. No voice was raised against another; Death decreed that all were brothers And hatred in their hearts would reign no more. The panorama, thus unfolded, Chided now, and even scolded Those now left alive on either side. "When you are dead," the scene had said, "You'll coexist like us instead Of killing fellow men you can't abide." The message rose quite strong that day From those reposed in green and gray And both sides seemed to falter in their quest. If the gory dead in no-man's land Could lie together hand in hand, Why could not the living stand the test? What purpose had been served out here, Except to lose all those held dear To a futile fight where all had failed when tested? So the weapons fell from both sides' hands And they walked away from no-man's land... And so it was, on the seventh day, they rested.
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