He emerged from gold lands, far and near,
only skin and bones, and windswept loam.
He forged through thistles, confusion and fear,
wore a river on his back, and a cloak of home
draped over his shoulders, into worlds unknown
Tears ran rivulets on the white man's ground
drenched with forgiveness, from a crying sun,....
and the eyes of a Yahi...from a tribe,..... since gone
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For Deb's Contest: "8 Lines, Any kind"
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ishi
It takes a critical mass
to keep a culture alive,
I once heard someone say.
Ishi was the last of his tribe
and whole civilizations
have come and gone.
The tipping point comes
when you lose your way
or someone takes it away
from you.
George Washington,
for all his faults,
understood what torture was.
Tecumsah killed his own warrior
for torturing a white prisoner.
Our Bill of Rights was written
with an empire's abuses
in mind.
Once, these things were understood,
and despite our faults,
we were proud of who
we tried to be.
A people and its leaders
not outraged by our abuse
of others rights and bodies,
and even of our own,
has lost its critical mass
and become everything
its founders feared
that we might become.
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