I dread each sunrise,
trembling,
sure the rays of the Greater Light
will shine on glistening red.
Red, as far as man’s eye can see,
the dark, bright red of Blood.
I’m grateful for the clouds
when they hide me from the Sun.
But nothing can erase
the pain.
A man of great renown
once called me hallowed.
I know not why, for I will call me
cursed.
A century and a half have passed,
and still
I groan beneath the weight.
I cannot bear the grief
of so much Blood.
Eleven thousand acres by man’s measure.
Oh, how small, how small!
when faced with all the burden of
this Blood.
For here two armies met.
Seven thousand died;
their Blood flowed out upon me;
Life drained out.
Three-and-thirty thousand bled
from wounds
until they saturated me,
until they hid from me the sky,
and still
more Blood flowed over me.
I opened my mouth and received it,
for such is the duty of Earth–
to receive, to cover, to grant rest to
the Blood that is spilled on our face.
I opened my mouth,
and I choked.
It was too much to bear.
Too much, too much,
the Life lost on my ground.
A hundred years of rain
cannot wash away the taste
of salt and iron and Death.
I ache
under the weight of this Curse.
I wonder if they feel it,
these children of men who walk upon me now
to view the site.
Do they feel the crushing burden?
Can they sense the grief,
the agony,
of bearing so much Blood?
I cry out, yes, I groan;
I plead for some relief.
Yet no one hears,
no one–
but God.
I beg of my Creator
that He would set me free.
“The Time has not yet come.”
When will it come,
that Day
when Fire destroys all Earth?
For then will I be free from
this deep pain.
Then will I be created anew,
fresh,
clean,
in a world full of Life.
Where no more Death can touch me,
and no more Blood is spilled.
And surely then
in ecstasy
I will again cry out;
with Joy I’ll shout to Him,
the Lamb,
who, by His Blood,
Redeems all things.
-Miss Darcy
Peculiar Miss Darcy 