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WindWalker
Senior Member

since 2001-10-12

Posts 1218

0 posted 2005-04-23 09:16 PM

Time's lonely shadows lengthen over the earth:
the spirit of Wind Walker stands alone
atop a rising knoll overlooking empty rolling plains;
a restless autumn wind blows unchecked, untamed,
moaning tearful over desecrated burial grounds.

Wind Walker hears the coyotes howl in pale moonlight;
the thunder of mighty buffalo herds crossing the plains;
feels the throbbing drums around flickering camp fires;
sees his people, ghosts from years of fulness,
performing the ancient buffalo dance.
He smells the smoke rising peacefully in the clear night...
then the vision, so sweet to the eye, vanishes,
as did the buffalo and the people.

Numb of soul and empty of heart,
Wind Walker turns toward the spirit mountains,
taking the hallowed path of the grandfathers:
the last shaman of the great plains
to seek a vision for understanding:
why did the white man so savagely destroy
his world? kill his blood brothers?
annihilate the life-giving buffalo?
What kind of hatred moved such a plague
across the once-living prairie?

As Wind Walker approaches snow-capped giants
a thunderous echo beckons: he realizes
his earth time is of the past;
his restless, homeless spirit,
like the people of the campfires,
the coyotes of the moonlight,
the buffaloes on their ghostly trek,
must relinquish their place in the foothills:
the conquerors lay their pipelines and fences
cutting furrows deep into the soil.

Only acceptance, only love can now decide
the future of a once proud and virgin land:
no challenge, no showdown, no vengeance,
but simple understanding,
can ever demonstrate the truth.

ThisDiamond
Member Rara Avis

since 2002-02-22

Posts 9353
Michigan, USA