SPIRIT OF THE FATHERS

Yesterday,
you fought, my fathers,
the brave fight.
They were good days to die.
Stained faces were proud
in the warmth
of Father Sun,
paint ponies ran with you
eager into battle,
while sacred eagles soared
the sky,
having lent their grace,
their spirit,
to your fight.

All life returns,
as in the beginning,
to Mother Earth,
as will The People.
Change forewarned the blood,
running red,
the tears,
streaming sorrow,
spilled upon the trails
of defeat.
The ways of our fathers
feared,
and so
stamped out.

Tomorrow,
visions dim,
fewer hopes,
blood less pure,
but for the children, and theirs,
and theirs,
the spirits of the old ones
live on,
the collective soul of a people,
resounding a thunder in the hearts,
of new warriors
who will never surrender
the fight.
And therein lies your
glorious, victorious,
triumph,
my fathers.

Kildareme
June ‘01