WHERE GUILT
IS A RED SABER
They marched the lines until the men fell from
exhaustion, just another kind of lethal death far
out among the bounds of Hell itself. Straight lines
wavering, like the old barns that stood, filled with
marksmen and sharshooters now. The command to
Die was given, but the command for Living was
never rescinded. The men turned on their own,
they never had a choice. Death to the risen top,
where guilt is a red saber.
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