Visions
I can see the Natives
Dancing around the fire,
Praying and chanting
The drums beat faster.
I hear their tom toms
See their feathered headdress,
Sparks from the fire ignite
As they dance well into darkness.
The music slows now
As does their feet,
I feel it in my soul
With every heart beat.
They tell tales
Of so long ago,
How they used to fight
With bows and arrows.
I see the scalpings
The hatred in their eyes,
How their villages were torched
Caught them by surprise.
Now they have to reap
What they have sown,
Their precious, sacred land
Is the only thing, they've ever known.
Copyright Cynthia Jones
Jan.28/2005
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