Gettysburg

"Ben, if you could only see it…"

He shook his head in disbelief,

Dropped his hands onto his knees,

Adjusted down into his seat.

He said no more then for a moment,

Sitting as if thoughts at rest

Then turned to me, with one eye open,

"Ben, it's beautiful," he confessed.

His face was troubled when he'd spoken,

His shoulders dropped with burdened sigh.

They carried more than just Bill's troubles,

But nothing less would he abide.

He longed for just what he had right to,

Peace and ease and simple home,

But love is prison, never freedom,

And little of us is our own.

Bill had picked between two dear things:

His sister and his place of peace,

Not a choice, just what a man does

Who from love's trap won't seek release.

I sat and watched my friend's mind wander

Rolling hills and fading sky,

I turned to ask if break was over

"Ben, it's beautiful," he replied.