Daily Post Prompt: Gun-Smoke and Tomahawk

 gunsmoke
They spoke in
shattered whispers
in the dead of night,
you could hear them
their sounds faint
upon the winds
echoing why . . .
our forebears came
climbing mountains
braving the seas
and sadly,
some came in chains
others here long ago
their legacy taken
no time to grieve
Move on, move on
Till the land bleeds dry
And there is nothing left
No time for remorse
Our forebears
pillaged and plundered
gun-smoke and tomahawk
chains and masters’ whips
and the earth still feels
the dull ache of
blood drenched grasses
yet we sing,
stand high, stand proud
and the wind asks why . . .
it is not so much
that pride is lost
nor that love can never
twain us meet
but I wonder
when wounds
will be mended
and when shackles
will be loosened
for many still
have bound feet
and hearts that listen
can still hear that wind
it echoes in the distance
above the smog and din
and our hearts
shall never settle
and the wind
shall never cease
till the time when
what was stolen
is given back
and in one piece.

© Sumyanna 2016

Gorgeous image courtesy of Morguefile.
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