Defiled Tribes
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
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