11. Antietam, Maryland They sat around fires the night before engaging being prodded to their highest hours by figures they saw on orange tongues of dancing desire thrusting flickering forks at their secure dens of cowardice and fear, and they revelled in that seduction. Until weakness would curl in over them in the lulls between and bury their boldest affirmations in tides of dark portents as to the morrow with the lines breaking the flash of bayonets against September sun, the crash headlong or crumpled on moistened soil while all around the tumult, the pounding of hooves the swish of flags crescendoing, and then the slow cessation of sound. from: Along the Way : Collected Poems Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image!
One thing I don't understand is: why the above creation is called poem? It looks like near rhymeless accumulation of words. Probably, it's a modern English language thing.
rhyming is not a requirement to be called poetry but I see what you are saying. There is a fine line between poetry and prose.
