THE OLD ONES by Jeffrey Littrell

an enduring sense of loss

a timeless sorrow shall remain

from the genocide of cultures

red apocalyptic rain

 

scars upon my heart

from wounds so long ago sustained

driven from the sacred land

where no buffalo remained

 

the spirits of my ancestry

still try to teach and guide

I feel a hand upon my shoulder

when my pain will not subside

 

late last night, I heard an owl

it’s mournful cry of warning

I feel The Old Ones coming soon

I laid awake ‘til morning

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About digthroughlife

I am a fifty-three year old poet who also writes fiction. I worked twenty-three years for the USPS, though never enthusiastically. I am a member of French Writers Worldwide and have had several poems published in French and Spanish. I hold strong opinions on music, film, and human rights. Some of my influences are Charles Bukowski, Arthur Rimbaud, Dylan Thomas, Leonard Cohen, Tom Waits, Bob Dylan, Sylvia Plath, W.B Yeats, Bob Marley, William Blake, and Hunter S. Thompson. I'm an avid fan of the New York Yankees, Oakland Raiders, and Indiana Pacers. I like traveling by car. I enjoy seeing rock and alt-country bands in small venues. I hold a black belt in Taekwondo, but no longer spar due to injuries incurred in a motorcycle accident in 2005. I play acoustic guitar. I love Crown Royal whiskey and California Kush. Women are both the bane of my existence and all that sustains me. I believe strongly in the power of love and heartbreak. View all posts by digthroughlife

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