Charles L. East
an insidious awakening
that stirs my soul to memories,
of past strife and death
of glories faded, buried,
as though they never were.
I hear the distant drums of war
and the heralding trumpet’s muted voices,
and dimly see
a legion of shimmering golden helmets…
their plumes dancing in Sparta’s wind.
I feel the blistering sting of cold salt spray
as I behold the failing sun slip quietly
beneath an unforgiving sea.
My life’s blood absorbed by the warm sands
of Rome’s coliseum…
I am aware
of the fragrance of the Earth
in Flanders field.
an insidious awakening.