Spiritual

Living in the reservation Must have been habitual Colonization – segregation This is so spiritual I can’t bear this anymore Yet I have to carry on Doing things I did before In the years long gone But it’s not the same, it has Worsened over measure Set a picnic on the grass Try some thoughtless pleasure Read some poetry, accept Someone’s deep insights Anyway, I shall forget Their spiritual heights When the sun goes down, I go To my secret place There’s no secret in it, though Just an old man’s face.