Crimson Trail

In battles of the Civil War,
whether victorious or failed.
All of them left behind,
a steady crimson trail.


The blood of our fallen brothers,
flowed through land like streams.
Almost never ending,
like a much too frightening dream.


Through the acrid air,
battle cries were yelled.
As many men were shot down,
and died right where they fell.


The worst of any conflict,
history has ever spoken.
Because brother killed brother,
as our country was broken.


On America's soil,
the scars are still showing.
Deep within her memory,
the crimson trail is still flowing.


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