We the creatures
Of fate once feathered,
Senses covered with earth, yet no
Harmony inland.
The oceans incantations speak of what it is
To be a man.

And if this blood should spill, crimson wine
In empty tavern,
Lie my body
Low to the ground,
Divert a river over what remains.

I will still carry this spear,
It guides me on,
It’s point breaks the air.

6 Responses so far »

  1. 1

    dulzimordash said,

    Reblogged this on Spontaneous Creativity.

  2. 3

    these words reached in and touched me.

  3. 5

    Too much blood has been spilled upon this land, and our Native brothers still await the harmony of all brothers to unite.. A poignant poem………. Deep in thought!

    Blessings Sue

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