Native Soul
country celebrates
what was gained from our pain
while the land still runs with the blood
from the innocence slaughtered
within the wind the screams
echo across the Earth.
Each drop of rain weeping
for the suffering, as others
walk across the bones
to reap their greed
and rape the soil
without a thought
of looking back.
And this is what others
have to be thankful for
the stolen souls
ripped from Native hearts.
Where once the drums
in steady rhythm played
beneath Sister Moon
watching from above.
Now only silence
for the voices which
have been muted.
Others isolated
in their security built
upon the backs of the fallen,
the forgotten.
The memories are but
faint impressions,
banished from their
sheltered walls.
The ones who
no longer hear the
Earth sing,
and sweep away
the spirits pulsing once
through everything,
as so much dust
within the way.
But somewhere
there still flickers
a flame that will
forever burn
through eternity.
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