undefined
undefined
Whispers In The Wind
The day is warm, the sun
shining,
a soft breeze is blowing, the fall
colors are in their glory.
Yet on this Georgian hillside, a
heaviness is in the air,
and an unseen stirring
leaves ones very being wounded and
torn.
The sorrow of thousands of souls are
calling to the living.
Suffering is felt on the whispers of
the breeze.
It is told
by tall oak trees standing sentinel
over long abandoned wells,
dug to escape, bone chilling cold,
starvation,
the blazing Georgia sun,
disease
and above all the burning desire for
freedom.
It is spoken in earthworks
built to keep others at bay with the
weapons of war.
Had I not been told the story of this
place,
. . . all is not well
would still have been whispered in my
ears.
White carved stones stand is perfect
rows,
dedicated to the men who died at this
beautiful place,
now tarnished by cruelty and
suffering.
The feeling in my heart and in my
soul
is this,
It is their bodies that now rest in the
red Georgia clay
but their souls still linger
within the stockade walls,
and this is what they wish to tell
us,
if we will but listen.
"Let our deaths not be in
vain,
make sure this happens Never
Again!"
" Dear brethren who walk here
today,
allow not yourselves to war against one
another again,
stand united and strong against that
which ails your
country and fight together as brothers
should,
not divided, desolate and
alone."
"Let there no longer be the like
of
Andersonville, Douglas, Belle Isle or
Elmira.
Let no man hold a brother captive
again.
So as you leave this place,
May you leave in peace
and may you Never let us be forgotten
."
Julia K. Hogston
November 5, 2000
