Campfire Night

Cloak wrapped tight around my form,

I rest by the fire, embers warm.
The gentle night soothes my fears,
And dissuades the sight of sorrows tears.

The breeze comforts, an engulfing sweetness
Pulling my hair free into an entangled mess.
Soft strands caress my weary face;
Here my thoughts rest, and every worry erase.

The blooming trees send their pleasant scents
To whirl about me, a dancing presence.
They mingle, like fairies, in the moon's rays,
And induce thoughts with their pagan craze.

Be rested, be soothed, oh innocent one,
For tomorrow there will be no sun.

You shall behold the blood upon the field,
And the agonies of death will not yield.

In the morning the battle shall ensue,
The hatred of a nation under sky's blue.
Screams shall arise from the dying throat,
And your fellow man shall be wildly smote.

Solemn

The sky's misty clouds shall fade
The lights one by one disappear.
And still in music she has stayed
'Till the darkened room hath turned to drear.

Her fingers prance across the key,
Until her eye hath no more sight.
For in her playing she must see
Or by a light the key turn bright.

But as sorrow weigh her heart too heavy,
Her hands, taught finger, slowly halt.
For heavy hearts mean much solemnity,
And none can dance when love hath fault.

It's when the tension is worst

That I feel like running

I hear the strife well-versed

Cutting words, so cunning

My lonely days are empty

Ridden with broken dreams

I try not to be angry

But within are blasphemes.

I need to escape this world

But there's no where to hide

When into shadow I'm hurled

I must retreat inside...

Is my life a fault?

Why does it have to halt?

I try to exalt,

But I'm locked in this vault.

I see the beauty around

And sometimes I can sing

But the melody is drowned

The song will start to sting.

Right now I quietly weep

The tears fall on this page

I wish I could just sleep

But fear I can't assuage.

I'm waiting for things to change

I don't know what to do

This world is utterly strange

I must find a way through...

When will he find me?

Will he perceive my plea?

I will remain free

This I can guarantee.

Letters to Lady Mary I

Dear Lady Mary,
My I inquire after my lady's health? How does the weather fair in thy country? It is cold here. My fingers doth suffer greatly, and I am at my wits end trying to find new ways to maintain my body temperature above the freezing point. My cloak does not sufficiently sustain inward warmth. I am in a state of sadness and depression over the resent happenings in my country. Denille is in absolute turmoil. The king is missing, and in court there is murder and secrecies never before thought of. I, here on the battle field, am very confused and do not fully understand what intrigues are and have taken place, but I have stumbled on something most strange and dangerous. Let us pray I do not run my course into that of difficulty, for with my discoveries, I must take on a new role, from loyal citizen of my mighty country, to that of defender and fighter...be it even to my death. I am no longer a man independent of family and rank, but slave to my mission and destiny. I must place myself on the stone alter and allow no one to stop the slaughter that will follow. For this cause do I sorrow. Yet not is fear surrounding me! I see this as my blessing, and I do know in my innermost being that I will hold the victors spoils in the end. But before this shall come to pass, much blood and gore shall flood my soul, and that of the Denillian countryside. So my heart is split into two parts. One of Courage... the other of Blood. I shall not survive.
My brother, Alexis, is missing. I know not where he is, nor do I my husband, who has also gone missing. The sword I once held in safety is also absent, and for these three items I mourn. If it were not for the present circumstances I have been thrust into, I would hastily pursue with all diligence and agony. Yet am I bound with thick iron chains and broad straps of leather. I am not my own. Thy face at this moment is in my mind, setting itself by a warm fireside and gracing all who belay themselves. It is truly beautiful to mine eyes when I do stand by thy side. Thy name, sweet to mine ears does remind me so much of our childhood. You were a daring friend, willing to put up with all that came to my mind. Yet here I doth sit, so much changed from that young girl. I am a warrior now, and with this title follows thoughts of slaying and crimson battle fields. I am no longer that problematic young thing. Do you remember the day I was excepted as a fighter? From that day on we saw little of each other, my training and your courting pulling us apart until finally we saw naught of our old play mates. Those times are so far away now I am hardly able to drag myself back to them. It were better if I did not write of it anyways.
It took great efforts to attain paper and pen to write this brief letter, and even greater to obtain the ink with which to write it. You will be shocked to find out that it is of my own concoction of a bitter bark brew, mixed with my own blood. It is not very dark, seeing as I had to water it down slightly so I would have enough. The paper I got from a dead mans body, who fell in the resent battle with the savages. I almost died in that battle. It is a miracle that I am now even healed, for the wound was severe. My bloody ink comes mainly from this wound. I am able to walk, but with such zealous pain that it is almost not worth the effort. So I remain on my horse, which is not altogether without pain either. I am still able to wield my sword, which is indead a fortunate thing, or I would be dead even now. So many enemies hide in our surrounding wood it is most alarming. But in this battalion of warriors, put together with the most brave and heroic men that none dare defeat us. One day you may say that you were acquainted with the Great Signora Violetta, and all who hear will be in awe of you and your fortune. It seams that when we enter villages, the locals even now will treat us as those from a holy legend. My light is gone...I must go. If thou tryst to sent word back to me, be prepared for no reply. My mission will have me dead in less time than I wish, whether I accomplish it or no. Fare thee well. I shall conquer.
Thy Friend and Sister Forever,
The Great Signora Violetta

Wednesday started out partly cloudy. Once in a while the sun would break through and give a bit of light, but quickly vanish away. In the afternoon, I could hear from my window the loud chirping of crickets, but besides that there was only the sound of the light breeze. I was tired, but wanted to read, so I piled up some blankets and pillows, along with "The Scarlet Letter", and took off through the back yard to the playhouse.

The playhouse isn't really a playhouse anymore; when I was younger I played in it almost all day, but now that I'm older I have ceased to "play" and have begun to read and write more. I like to pile up cusions and read all afternoon. This day was the same, except that I knew there was a storm coming.

As soon as I began the walk to the playhouse, I could see to the north-west dark clouds. Not just normal rain clouds, but truely dark, severe storm clouds. I decided to read until I was too tired, and then just take a nap out in the playhouse...during the storm. I got to the playhouse and set up the cot, draped the blankets over it, placed the pillows to my comfort, and then situated myself for a pleasant afternoon.

It didn't work out as I thought it would. I was just reading the part in my book where Hester Prynne is shamed on the scaffolding and beseeched to reveal her child's father's name, when it grew suddenly dark. I sat up, as the wind stopped and the crickets silenced, waiting and wondering what would be the outcome of this storm.

All the sudden I was blinded by a flash. I coudn't see for a couple seconds, and when site was retrieved, I wished instead I had lost my hearing. A crack of thunder, so loud I felt the house shake, boomed all around. The noise was the eqivelant of three or four parot cannons being fired simultaniously. I held my breath, shocked. Just five minutes before I had seen some lightening, but the thunder was definitely delayed. This was totally unexpected.

I wasn't sure if something had been hit, but I wasn't going to stick around to die. I grabbed everything I had brought out, shoved my sandels back on, and ran as fast as I could to the house. Just as I jumped up the stairs and opened the screen door, the wind picked up and blew leaves around me. The heavens opened and the rain poured down. In seconds there was a foamy puddle on the brick sidewalk.

I went inside and put my stuff down on the couch, then returned to the porch. Marble sized hail had already begun to fall, and it made a loud thud as it smacked the porch. Sheats of rain swept over the city garage parking lot next door. The smal pond had been completely dry before the rain began to fall, but now, five minutes later, it was full. The trees across the way were being beaten down by the wind, many branches bent to the ground.

Finally, after two weeks of storm warnings, it was raining. This morning, it was still raining, and this afternoon was mostly rainy too. Now it has stopped and the sun is shining. It turns out that a town ten minutes from us was hit by a tornado. Lots of trees have been damaged, but my playhouse still stands! Our nieghborhood is untouched by the tornado, and I expect it to remain so for some time. But let the storms and rain come...I can never get enough of them.

Here's a cool video. I wonder if it was a school project...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SfYvINxvnmE

Brief Civil War Medical Report

#1 Transportation
One major problem of the Civil War was how to transport the wounded. The low amount of supplies for moving the wounded soldiers was a major problem. On July 4, 1862 Dr. Jonathan Letterman replaced Surgeon General Charles S. Tripler, commander of the Army of the Potomac Medical Department. The Ambulance Corps was formed in time for Antietam, and was formed by the director of the Army of the Potomac, under its medical director Jonathan Letterman. Then, the Corps was known as the Letterman Ambulance Plan. In the system, the ambulance of a division moved together, under a mounted line sergeant, with two stretcher-bearers and one division per ambulance, to collect the wounded from the field, bring them to the dressing stations, and then take them to the field hospital. Drills were repeated frequently in the corps. They had a normal schedule and regular stops on a route. After trying many times, the Ambulance Corps was passed on March 11, 1864. It established the corps as a normal army unit and gave the Medical Department the right to train the men. But the first removal of the wounded from the battle-field was generally effected by means of hand litters.
#2 Field Hospital
There was a dressing station 60 to 70 yards from the front line. First aid was done here, tourniquets and splinting. From there, they went back into battle or to a field hospital, maybe in a barn or church three or four miles behind the lines. Here they had operating surgeons, where they did amputations. Wounds of head, chest and abdomen weren't treated; they were given painkillers and most died there. From here, they were evacuated, usually by train, to fixed hospitals.
Field hospital-sketch from Harpers Weekly
#3 Hospital
One hospital was the Regimental Hospital. The Regimental Hospital was allowed four tents. Two of the tents were used for the officers and the medicines. Another tent was used for the injured and wounded patients, and the other was used for supplies, and the kitchen. Each tent could hold eight patients, which were usually in a cot. The hospitals ran smoother with the help of individuals that affected future medicine.
Once the wounded or disease ridden were transported to the hospital, the torturous operations and usage of medicines began. Surgeons, doctors, and nurses, were not aware of sanitation, and were not familiar with cures for diseases and wounds. At the time no one knew about bacteriology. Their working conditions were very unsanitary. They used bloody tools on the same people, didn’t wash their clothes or hands, and used dirty, bloody sponges to clean the wounds. Surgeons had little supplies to work with. Their medicine supply was low, and had nowhere to set up hospitals. There was lack of water, basic supplies, drugs, and most of all, time. For operating tables, doctors had to use kitchen tables, doors, and any other flat surface they could find. Surgeon’s tools were also very limited.
Surgeons used a variety of medical tools. Each surgeon basically had the same tool. Each kit would have two surgical saws, a curved probe, retractor, cutting pliers, clamps, brush, and trepanning instruments carried in a plush wooden case. Since surgeons had nowhere to set up hospitals, they used farms, schools, homes and churches. Doctors only cure sometimes for wounds were amputations.
Three out of four operations were amputations. The Minie Ball, which was one of the most harmful bullets, was usually the main cause for an amputation case. A soldier would have to wait one to two days until a doctor could see them. After they were seen, then they would have to get medicine for their disease. Most diseases had small cures, but the main cure was time and rest. Yet, for severe wounds doctors would have to amputate.

-TO BE CONTINUED-