In Search of Nature
Wandering past the boundaries of his small reservation,
Crescent Moon saw the land of his ancestors’ generation.
Tales handed down spoke of vast plains where buffalo used to roam,
but plains had become cities, animals had found a new home.
Most of the creatures had been captured, tagged and placed into zoos;
Anger coursed through Crescent Moon’s veins as tears from his eyes did ooze.
Tribal leaders had told him that the sky was once a bright blue,
but now smog was so thick that only faint rays of sun pierced through.
Seeing mountains in the distance, he pursued a vision quest
taking him through streets that were once the great forests of the West.
Snowy peaks he finally reached, but they were lined by ski resorts.
Fire burned in him, knowing beauty had been sacrificed for sports.
As he climbed over peaks to view a river flowing below,
he saw only tainted waters that caused his anger to grow.
Sadly, slowly, he made his way back to the reservation,
knowing there was no way to reverse what the white man had done.
Although others had adjusted to life in captivity,
he’d no longer participate in tribal festivity.
Instead he made his home in a cave behind a waterfall,
to envision his land as it once was, not a shopping mall.
Oh Carolyn, I wish I could attach a picture of my mother beneath this poem, with her long black hair and high cheekbones! She was one fourth Cherokee and her land is now gone. Not only has the landscape of my ancestors changed, so has their health and customs due to the ways of greed. May those who truly have a sacredness about life live on forever. You stirred the ancient spirits of my ancestors with this special write!
Love, Gwendolen R.