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Indian Trilogy
I hear you softly crying,
Calling back to me,
From the grave of tomorrow
Your image I can see;
But my life isn't ready
To greet the judgment day,
So cast your pearls before the swine
And go your lonely way.
As the drums of war were silenced
By the iron horse, guns, and lies,
The feelings of your people
Were hard to be disguised;
But despite the tide of history
Your story will be told
At a time when man will fail to heed
A tale so sad and cold.
So hard to be remembered
Is a bluecoat's gun in hand
As he routed all your warriors
And killed them to a man.
As a chief your trials have ended
With your nation's swife demise,
But the years of strain, tears and pain
So deeply in your eyes.
For the truth of life is simple
To simple to be seen
By the gloating eyes of yesterday
That blinked at Wounded Knee.
The page of history's wrinkled,
By the hand of fate it's turned,
Starting again where once you've tread
A path that bleak and burned.
The evening clouds have gathered
And a storm is yet to break,
Your lodge is filled with sadness
No more will you partake
Of the world of hate, it's ended,
Your death is sure and sweet,
Your squah and sons have come and gone,
Your maker now you'll meet.
As you stand before the altar
Of the God who gave you life,
The stormy clouds have lifted,
The dawn has met the night.
He casts his eyes upon you
While his face is lined with dread,
Come forth my son, his words resound,
My children are all dead.
Ah, the truth of life was simple,
Laid down clear to see
While the child of nature suffered
In a land where men were free.
Ah, the blood of all God's children
Flows red toward toward the sun
While man prepares again to do
The crime that he has done.
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Norton R. Nowlin, a creator of prose, poetry, and essays, seeking to come into his own flourishing moment of recognition.
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