ancient embers -
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my chief ...
thoughts go back to that again -
the day you found me on the plain
so bleeding from a musket wound
and dying, slow, with fear and pain
my own kind left me there to die
to not waste cares for such as I
an orphan white boy, still a child
with troubled heart, I won't deny
yet, you did lend me mercy then
with no concern of who I'd been
and raised me like your very own
to learn the ways of Tlingit men
my course has not been easy life
more basic, yes, but hardship rife
and still, my gut and heart are full
midst joys of family, food and wife
and now I watch this poignant fire
of sparking cinders, drifting higher
while tribe and I conduct you home
all dancing ‘round this funeral pyre
each flaming ember turns the thief
and steals you off, my father, chief
o sad, to but command the flames
and scorch away my crushing grief
and yet, as each one climbs on high
those precious mem’ries, you and I
are borne the heavens, ever-bright
and placed as stars …
upon the sky.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Tribute To Native Culture" Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2018
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