Wednesday, 27 July 2011



Buffalo roared
in a dead quiet land
echo of ghosts
who can understand?

Clouds of dust
seen from afar
rumbling Earth
bright lit star.

Mother and young in
bathe in the night
no one to frighten them
ample moonlight.

Hunters ride
painted red
food for villagers
young need fed!

Smoke emerging
wafting in the breeze
dogs howling
then feeling at ease.

A marriage of two tribes
being as one
contented love
bearing a son!

Tribal chief rants
in his smoking tepee
happy with his lot
were he wants to be.

Children laughing
playing in the sun
horses feeding
girls having fun.

White man arrives
stealing the land
weapons of destruction
armies of grand.

A way of life
no peace remains
hunting their buffalo
sowing their grains.

Massacre afoot
both parties will lose
introduced to white mans ways
women and booze.

The end of an era
no where to go
learn to conform
unable to grow.

The land of our Fathers
no more little arrow
just mama, and papa
and a baby in tow.

Fascinated by History I decided to write this poem centring around the American Indian and how they must have felt when their way of life was destroyed.
This poem is fictional and does not point any fingers of blame towards anyone, it is merely intended to stir the memory..
Thank you for reading

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