Living With the Ancestors

There must be more than stars out there Blinded by the light inside the cave Small fires burn to keep the people safe Hunched over men use finger paints Maps and wild beast are drawn on walls The hunt begins at morning by the moon Stones and sticks are fashioned to a point Weapons of choice carved from imagination Primal people create devices to stay alive To save the tribe from hunger pain Poisons lurk in many of the hidden plants Women pray to mushroom gods for knowledge As they gather berries and fungus from the ground Hairy men grunt and kiss the wife good-by Going off to hunt might not seem glamorous In fact it’s primitive. It is survival. Life is given up to chance It’s not always pretty but it’s a living