Soldiers’ Sleep

There is no hate
where we lie now
battles ended, our scars dust
Under the ice and snow
just soldiers’ sleep

All of the wars
of all our tribes
it seemed somehow to matter
But under the fecund earth
just soldiers’ sleep

The war within war
blacks and whites equally
irrigating fields with scarlet
Still, under the fallen leaves
just soldiers’ sleep

Here is no heat nor cold
Nor passion nor desire
remembered and forgotten
Under the deep green grass
just soldiers’ sleep

Touch our cool stones
where we lie now
we the sightless, breathless
But under gentle breezes
just soldiers’ sleep

About Eugene Jones Baldwin

I am a writer: non-fiction, fiction, journalism (Alton Telegraph), essays (The Genehouse Chronicles) and have a website: I've published a couple dozen short stories and had eleven plays produced. Current projects: "Brother of the Stones" (available on Kindle), a book of short stories; "The Faithful Husband of the Rain, short stories"; "A Black Soldier's Letters Home, WWII,;" "There is No Color in Justice," a commentary on racism; "Ratkillers," a new play. I am an avocational archaeologist and I take parts of my collection of several thousand Indian artifacts (personal finds) to schools, nature centers, libraries etc. and talk about the 20,000 year history of The First people in Illinois. (See link to website) I'm also a playwright (eleven plays produced), musician, historian (authority on the Underground Railroad in Illinois, the Tuskegee Airmen) and teacher.
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