By John Klue
The desert was calm. Having become quiet.
Footmen fled the grounds in shame or celebration.
But one man remained. One man was still silent.
A General stayed among the dead and dying. Waiting, as if he intended to go down with this mesa. He watching what was alive leave us. Men of any uniform would sink into the sand, And the General saw it all.
El General stood alone alongside himself. He was silent. He was still.
A man among his work.
The wind whistled and echoed across the mesa and made men ashamed to be men, as if the father was scolding his sons.
Harsh words that were yet warranted.
The General listened to the wind and waited for it to become word.
Once the words left our wasteland a new song stole attention.
The General wished this song away, but it could only stay with him.
Beside our General was a man in white. Young in form with and old mans eyes.
The spirit spake to our General and simply said.
“NO” The general cried out “Why must you speak to me? Doth thou expect me to see you as true?”
“I was true once. At one moment in time. Do you recall? When I was real? Do you recall that moment when you knew me?”
“I may recall a moment. Yet I know not when it was.”
“It was many years ago. Before everything else. Before you become yourself. Back when we two were young. We would behave like brothers.”
“We knew no better back then.”
“Is it better now?”
“Begone ghost. Por favor, haunt me no longer?”
“Have I haunted you?”
The General turned and saw no one beside him. The General hung his head down. After all he had nothing but the sky.
The General stood alone alongside himself. He was silent. He was still.
Among our work, We are alone.