I love my e-cigarette,
my smoking stick..

Reminding me of
an Aboriginal elder,
passing their pipe
of peace around the circle,
only to be passed
to that White Devil
full of guild..

Did the White Devil
know which way
the story was going to go?
Too much guile
would have had to been sensed.

Perhaps there was no game plan,
only the rhythm of Life..
like a bucking horses'
up's and down's..
and jerking from
side to side.

The end result being
a stallion's broken spirit..

From the whip's full of pinch,
the lashes of the crop..
And the spurs full of vengeful  thrusts,
in no way, in any way of any winning,
Only a demoralizing, and a shaming.

The Evil White Devil,
his Evil didn't stop after
he hunted down the Warrior.

The Warriors Scalp taking,
perhaps an angry, brutality exposing
of a weakness in their spirit
when standing beside the Great Spirit's fullness'

No, no, It all has to be "owned up to".
Then perhaps a healing will take place,
A healing to where blame is resolved
by confession and understanding,
not by putting a monetary value on it,
but by a Love for by a Love's knowing.


The dreams I have when I smoke my pipe.