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Eyes of Anguish

His eyes are the same steely gray
as the gathering storm clouds.
As he turns toward the distant hills
his stare becomes vacant and haunted.
He sees through visions or memories,
of another day, another life, long ago.

There were many lines upon his aged face.
They've been drawn with the quill of time.
His wrinkles could never have concealed
the hopeless anguish etched so deeply
into his bronzed and weathered skin.

Humility and pride fight bitterly
on the battleground of his features.
The boldness in his stance is evident.
Emotions pour from his eyes and his soul
as the sorrow from his heart silently cries,
"This was once mine, never more to be."

Who was the heathen?  Who ravaged the land?
Not this man who respected Mother Earth.
He sadly dreams of yesterday's glory.
He soared with eagles and rode with the wind,
but he knows it is all 'suvate'  ~ finished.

Time was the enemy of this Native American.
His spiritual world was taken away when
the greed of man desecrated the need of man.
Now, he can only mourn for a life that was,
a life that now lives on only in legends.

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