Mired in history, coiled around by cheap reflections
On previous ramshackle glory,
Roman armies camped in valleys,
Swords trickling with blood from the battle
On the heath. Bodies covering the bracken
Like a foreshortened locust swarm, wingless

Over the town. The triumphant Italians had there
On the high ground, above the sinuous Col,
Built temples
And baths. Marble hauled in from Sicilian quarries,
Loaded on to Carthaginian ships by fierce North African slaves-
Themselves beaten warriors.
They were in the town when the tribes struck,
Dying in chains.

Before their own savage deaths, they slaughtered
Others, cut them into ragged pieces, decapitated, *****,
Choralling songs of victory, leaving none alive.
That day, the dun hills smelt better!
They torched the temples and wasted the proud theatre,
The slender apogee of culture.

Now the town slumbers in the present,
Burying its past under beautiful gardens, purple flowers and
Raffish gladioli peeking out from unobtrusive suburbs
Stinking of ancient corpses.

I make a promise to myself
To avoid the past and think of tomorrow,
In the dusk the world is a bitter reddish hue,
Under this happy sky with people dying in war,
It's just what we need to make certain that
We will "make it through," with "endless" life,
But there is really no other way I'm told.
You who deface nature for yourselves alone,
Trash the earth we were given that keeps us alive,
Even then you eat off of plates of gold.
We are your fools who sit in the library,
Reading some important history about
"Non-essential" needs of love and
The glory of the way of tribes past.
Whatever I am saying-even this moment
I'm being laughed at far and wide.
I'm wrong! I'm stupid. Go ahead, say it.
We're going the right direction, leave no stone
Un-turned, let no animal in the woods hide!
You will still show me "perfection" in destruction
And death once I let you get inside my head,
If we are the future, it's already dead...

I cannot speak the light
The light that speaks to all cultures
Except the language of love
Of their loneliness
And fear
Their insecure nature
Because we all know how it ends
But I cannot make them love their enemies
I can’t make them care about your children
Or care about anything I care about

I
Can't
Make
Them

Because it is that they worship something sight unseen

So what it is
Can we ever know?
Except what our minds need it to be
For us
For our people
But I cannot know
If the light that guided you
Also guided your conquerors
I cannot explain how not to avenge your son
Or how to forgive the cause
Of the diaspora
I cannot explain to someone else why your anger is just
Or why their anger is not just to you
I cannot tell you that God favors you
And not him

There are so many nails for me remove
Maybe it’s better to fight than be apart
Happiness
Peace
Tranquility
Only moments in time
And yet we continue to believe we are blessed
By God
Given
His fruits
Born
In his image
{emotion or my face?}
Worthy
Of his mercy
But not you
But not me
Only we
Whoever we are
It had to be us

We are the chosen people
This land is ours
We buried our dead here
Thousands of years ago
It is ours

Graves are not meant for cliff diving
Or day trading
They are only food for our sadness
And we must protect them
No matter how many layers exist
Between our fathers
And the fathers of the soil far beneath us
Where only evolution and faith know the truth
Where only history lies dormant
Wondering
If a shovel and the light from another world will ever arrive

I know there is a place in life
For all things great and wise,
But many people mistake certain
Things that are not of that guise.*
A practiced profession a vague recollection
A violent war, a hit and miss game,
People looking for others that they
Have even hurt or ruined to blame,
This is what has become and what became,
We are the "example" of purity.
Our hands soaked with blood,
A hateful flag waved in your face,
An obscene way to show "mature" grace,
This is what made America great,
To go forth, destroy, pillage, use plague,
To steal from the tribes on all counts,
Our excuse and our reasoning? Based on fear.
Showing nothing but "needed" destruction
And savagery, a form of selfish "non-villainy"
Practice an "innocent" thing called slavery,
Blame the blacks for selling them to our
***** filthy tainted "pure" white hands.
This is for what the southern flag really stands.

did you have a
good thanksgiving?
not to bring you down
but the people who
first helped the whites
are the poorest folk around.

the Nations of Lakota
the Navajo. the Sioux
they live their lives despairingly
not knowing what to do.

these people have rich heritage
some live off the land.
but the rez may not be able
to give them ground to stand.

what Caucasian people
gave the native folk
were the parts unwanted
a disgrace!  a joke!

some put up casinos
to "help" them in their plight
but much of this income
is wrenched from them by the white!

drugs and "fire water"
are a great deal to blame
for destruction of a culture
which bears noble name!

I have read the stories
of Gallup New Mexico
of many deaths of citizens
of the nation Navajo

because intoxication
and the bitter cold
have them sleeping under cars
or so the stories told.

when the owner of the vehicle
gets in and drives away
they run over the poor drunkard
who dies where they lay.

other grave conditions
have these people fraught
they have no essentials
we don't give a thought.

don't want to be crass
don't want to be gross
but they have no toilet paper
use newspaper! or worse!

there are churches. charity
but the folk are proud
they have basic dignity
this is not allowed.

but you can help their Nations
by giving to THEM
the worthy tribal leaders
will help them once again.

I felt lead to write this
I am SO concerned
they are the source of inspiration
by a great respect
they've earned.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 11/27/2015

I look at two tribes,
Clawing at each others throats.

Spilling blood for ancient gods,
Our dying rock crumbles as they wage war.

Opposing forces,
One unstoppable.
One unmovable.

I wish more than anything,
That they would look up at night.

Because when he lands,
They will finally realize.

That they are more alike than they know.

And they will listen when he speaks,
Because the truth is.

He is the boy who made the moon.

She's wheat-skinned and coarse-haired;
In a fair and lovely world. This woman embodied
Perfection; without ever journeying on a quest to seek it.

All the other girls understood themselves,
Each and every bit of them. She simply
Forgot; to look in the mirror, to be aware of her singular quirks, to be daunted by the schools of swordfish.

In the tribes of North Africa, communities banged drums and danced to please the Gods.
"Allah, Allah!" they'd temporarily yell to foot-stampers who seemed to invoke the spirits,
Those who took breaths of transparent inspiration and truly,
And truly, lived in that jiffy.

The entirety of her life was an Allah moment,
For she never ceased to be lit from below, and lit;
From within. Her monochromatic soul shined a spectrum,
And she was perfect, because she didn't need to be.