Please, listen to this native American music, our traditional Thanksgiving Dance, and please read my poetry, but, while listening, think not of me, but of all our relations, Mitakuye Oyasin. As I listen, the drums of war, return, and so do my dreams, the roads, I have traveled. As I listen, I hear my heart beat, it is alone, and searching, for the Fallen. As I listen, I hear only the wind, that carries the Voices of the Fallen, that live within me. As I listen, I hear their mothers lamenting screams, and then she falls, to her knees. As I listen, I stand at attention, with a heavy heart, drowning, in her tears. Another warrior is dead, another mother is breathless, another father is crying, silently. As I listen, another warrior returns and finds a friend, he calls him, SUICIDE. As I listen, I hear my heart beat, I hear the bullets scream, listen. As I inhale, all living exhale, when we exhale, all living, inhale. We are one heart beat, and the river of blood, travels through our deeds. Up and down, the drum beats, and our blood, falls into the streets. And as the sun rises, it peaks through the mountain tops, only to see, another cemetery. And as the sun travels through the south, another 21 round volley, salutes, And the silence, turns into tears, a Gold Star Mothers fears, the sun sets. As the bugler plays tap, the Fallen Rest-N-Peace, and I, stand, holding on, to my USMC. Ultimately, the warrior moon arrives, and the guardian of the night, returns. And she begins to patrol, fire watch commences, my dutys are relieved, and the national memorial cemetery are secure, Thank God, you are Free. And As I listen to the owl speak, the night gives way to the light, and the drums of war commence, another warrior falls, and the cycle begins, again. Mitakuye Oyasin Plumas, The Semper Fidelis Grave Walker Inner Tribal Apache Ghost Dancer
Posted on: Wed, 12 Nov 2014 20:33:01 +0000
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