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Buried On Sour Ground

Took a spirit trek across the golden amber prairie Zephyr driven westward to the South Dakota Black Hills Had a restless pioneer rest, unsettling I laid my dear skin gentle feelings on the hard ground Lit the campfire to reach out to the darkness To-morrow’s desire will move from the start of the ancient, tear-stained trail Where Wounded Knees first arose, to go on a torturous path not willingly chose Native tears ... ash grief Cerulean wails ... bones bleached atop sour ground Forced departure profit spurred by blonde ambition A manifest movement — white buffalo driven by tidal waves of land acquisition Death of a proud people was such a foreboding destiny Hawks’ fury overtook the sparrows Chief defenders of sun nature, stripped of their noble stature Futile was the resistance battle of metal guns versus wooden arrows Old totems kneeled to the new idols atop the sour ground These haunting visions gave me an insomnia awakening Barren reservation of stillborn hope buried deep Along miles and miles and miles of native grief Stolen heritage abandoned; with urgency, I followed the ancient trail of misery A bald eagle feather, of such gossamer grace, led me ... with floating fire-cloud clarity My spirit was taken to the end of a place, where so many souls died horribly New World totems yield to the Old World idols atop bitter sour ground Better understanding finally gave me settled peace Yet still, at the end of this arduous journey, my sad, kindred spirit do cry on Wounded Knees I now know ... this is the sacred place where my long-held, dead hatred was to be buried Native tears ... ash grief Cerulean wails ... bones bleached atop sweet savor ground