We were as old as the land,
Submerged in abandoned dreams
And drowning in our dead.
Resting in the yellow promise
Of vandalizing tongues,
We trusted the honor of those
Who stipulated the terms of submission.
And we surrendered all we'd known
For the sake of our unborn
As the elders mourned the mutilation
Of traditions that defined us as a people.
We became a necklace of broken hearts
Buried in deceit
While our young faded like a photograph
In their eclipsed heritage.
Yet pride bulges from our grieving chest
Withstanding the brunt
Of mockery's spear and the trail of tears;
We are Turtle Island,
Emerging from emaciated hopes
To revitalize our purpose
On the sacred wheel.
We are not a sub-species,
Decomposing in the cage of triviality.
We are the eagle;
Refusing to die.