Rated: E · Poetry · Contest Entry · #2019077
My first attempt at Free Verse poetry.
The signs grow faint with the dying sun
and my thundering heart stretches like a woman
ripe with child while the blinding heat in my mind
flows freely like the slithering embers of a dying fire.
The Kiowa are not people blessed of First Man
but are woven from evil spirits
who haunt and rape our land and steal our children,
leaving burdens of anger and guilt and lost memories
like the cold whispering of the midnight wind.
Among them now my youngest child is tightly held
in the powerful grip of an enemy warrior, his arms
bulging with pride, his brutal face marked with the joy of desecration
and his tribe proud and savoring
the silent cunning and arrogant bravery he eagerly displays.
I am not bid to cry at the theft of a son nor the martyrdom of a brother,
but one who aches for the gentle smile and wistful grace
of a single daughter, whose joyful eyes and pouting lips
fills the heart of this ancient warrior to overflowing
and bends his mind to thoughts of happiness
his eyes to tears of joy and his soul to jumping
from spirit to body and back again.
Of this I swear on this trail of tears, my soul
will leave on its journey to the great beyond
before I turn back from this mighty quest
for I will be victorious or I will be no more.
My greatest treasure will be returned in all her mortal grace
full of the splendor given unto her by the Great Spirit,
our enemies will bear witness to the power
I bring among them and will bend their heads
in awe and shame while the old women
will tear out their hair and weep for forgiveness.
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