Past Lives

I am the proud daughter of Ra,
I am the messenger of the Gods.
My every whim given on command.
Gold and jewled scarabs on my hands.

Tartan kilt blowing in the wind
With emerald clan brooch pinned,
I spy my husband across the fen
Hunting a little pheasant hen.

Taken from my hunting place,
Crammed with others in a tiny space.
Sick, gagged, and tightly bound
Around my feet chains are wound.

I'm a Johnny Reb named Tom Drey
Proudly wearing the Confederate gray.
I hold my rifle low quietly as I lurk
This still gray morning in Gettysburg.

On the sea on an icy April night,
Hanging on with all my might.
I hold my baby and try not to cry
Knowing that we are soon to die.

I hear the stomping on the wooden steps.
Germans storming over where we've crept.
With our yellow stars they march us all
To camps where many of us Jews will fall.

In a battlefield in Vietnam
I fight beside my buddy, Sam.
We watch left and we watch right,
but in the end we both lose the fight.

Herre I am in present day
A mother of four with lots to say.
Who I'll be next no knows
and what I become only time shows.