New year new time.try this. Color bind death

It was eighteen hundred sixty three,or some place to close to that in time.
Three thousand of us straight and true, plus a General or two,marched in
Prideful stupidity up some hill where hell lived.
Line on line falling down, cannon fire a constant sound.
Half way up and part way through, us screaming when the bugle blew.
Kneel and fire, reload and die, brimstone clouds hide the sky.
Mind awhirl in the smoke filled dawn, scent of death , are we asunder yet?
I look about in dismay and dread.
Damned, can’t tell blue or gray from red

Wow.