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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