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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required THE LAST STAND Where have all my people gone, the Navaho, Lakota, and the Sue, Smothered beneath the white man's blanket, Chocking for a breath of airs life's sustaining oxygen. The beating heart of native drums, are stilled frozen, In the middle of it's rhythmic thumping, no pulses echo, Can be heard on the open plain. The weeping women kneel on sacred ground, shedding A river of bloods tears, burning a permanent scare across, A baron landscape. Death's black raven shields itself, under it's crimson soaked wing, Against shames immoral injustice. Greed's insatiable hunger for land and riches fuels lusts desire, Behold exterminations holocaust of the native inhabitants, Nothing remains alive except ignorance blackened shadow. How much blood can mother earth be forced to drink before, She drowns herself or spits up everything undigested, With sheer disdain and hatreds malice intent. On a black and white chess board the winners takes it all, Strategies grand masters playing with living pawns. Treaties written in vanishing ink, promises disappear in thin air, Revealing a liars sharpened tongue. The odds have always been stacked against those believing in fairness. A rogue tidal wave of humanity has wiped out a nation, And it's culture within the blink of an eye. Flights appendages are clipped on the dove of peace, leaving it Unable to soar above it's own habitat. Wreckage’s refugees stumble in the ruins after math, Rapes victims of civilizations civilized, Are left devoid of their heritages lineage and legacy. Elders chieftains representatives of a great nation, Smoke peace pipes in the white mans hunting lodge In Washington. As human beings are hauled like cattle's cargo, Taken to reservations burial grounds. Ancient ancestors lit up the heaven's vast expanse, By torches flame, To guide the souls of the dead unto their great spiritual Plain beyond. The pale horse gallops forward without a rider, And the red people become a phantom tribe vanishing Upon the winds shifting tides. Giving one last final tribal battle war cry, Why my father but the great spirit answers not. Behold America's legacy, a world trampled beneath It's heavy iron fist, all in the name of progress or for the cause Of Manifest destiny. BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
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