Defiled Tribes

Written by: Diane Locksley

Sharp contrast of totems against the gathering storm clouds
In graveyards of Native Americans, drums beat aloud 

Sounds of thundering hooves on stark prairies with tumbleweed
Lightning cracks its whip, illuminating great artistry

Defiled by white men tribes rest in these havens God protects
But as thunderstorms approach, their way of life resurrects

Ghost riders in the sky forever make their presence known
Still trying to reclaim the land that once was theirs alone

And when the storms have passed, crimson clouds mark the end of day
Through the breeze tribal leaders whisper, “We still know the way.”

The peace pipes were passed around with Europeans long dead
But those who proffered peace, watched coldly as families bled

Come, if you dare, to the resting place of courageous souls
For on these stormy nights, these riders are still on patrols

The wrath of nature’s sky is fueled by the fire in their eyes
They bore a nobility that could not be compromised

Written by Diane Locksley on August 18, 2011