"Graves of Stone"

I dread the dead of night
where ancient spirits hide
frightened the fear within,
my weary wandering mind
a blinding sight before me.

The ghosts on wild ponies
hanging lonely from a tree
the ropes twisting in a noose,
too tight to breathe the air
in a rain cloud, clouded dark.

"Will you find a way to help us
within a hole lying with a crow
stumbling scared, dark in here,
where ghosts are free to roam
moaning with the Indians of old,

trying to find a way home
dragging their weary bones
through the burning stakes?"
Your father the Governor;
sealing our fate years ago.

Fire away! “The command
ordered by the Generals.”
The wounded lying lame
pleading precious mercy
for the needs to heal us,

wrapped around wounds
to ride home on the wind,
praying for our families
to weep away our pain
dying in graves of stone.

Seeing twin towers waiting
raining dust to hide away
our memory of sin in man.
Where is our freedom
your clouded democracy,

reserved for whites only
bragging their mansions
built on graves of stone;
our ghosts of another color,
proud to die for our freedom.