Let this night
Bury in itself
All the evidences
Of what happened

Let the wind
Absorb in itself
The screams
No soul heard

Let this floor
Be cleared
Of the innocence
That was taken away

Let these walls
Be painted a new shade
To silence them
so they never tell the tale

Let the incidence
Be turned into twisted politics
A step sideways, and two backward
Never evolving

Let the world
Be dumb and deaf
To the injustice
Done

Let the candles
Be lit in her memoir
And watch them wax
As the news get old

Let the case be placed
Under a big pile of dusty, unsolved files and say*
We did our best

I'm a white guy,
he called me Wasicu,
but I have two eagle feathers,
both with dyed
porcupine quills.
They were sacred gifts,
given to me
by my red guy friend,
his name was Big Jim,
he was a vet,
he had scars
from being pierced,
and owned
an eagle bone whistle.

Last words for Martin Kitcher
Free to go and play with the trees.
A tickling breeze.
The sunshine in summer.
The raindrops that fall.
The calling was his.
Was called way too soon.
Look upwards at nighttime.
He's stood by the moon
Guitar in hand.
Making angels swoon.
We all have our memories.
The young guy full of music.
With the spiky dark hair.
Livvi **

It's not the voices of my head
that keep me up til three am.
But my seemingly sincere
******* heart chanting;
he was worth it,
but you didn't give him a chance.
You locked all your gates
and never let him in.
Look at what you have done,
made yourself lonely and sad.
For what?
You lost another
beautiful face, says my head,
but you have never lost a beautiful soul
and that's the difference.