Eights

“Eights”

Made of stardust, and born of Gods,

Here we are still, against all odds!

Time and again came sword and flame,

The invaders said we’re to blame!

Seeking glory, gold we had not,

For their god of greed, pain they wrought.

Killing as faith, come from afar,

Words broken, death, machine of war!

They came in winter, from the east,

A raping, frothing, horrid beast.

Our children and elders lay dead,

Women wounded, fiercely fought, bled!

Burn’d lodges, dogs and horses lost,

Lives made into crippling cost.

Men dead, men broken, bleeding, torn,

Babies from mothers ripped, unborn.

For thirst unquenchable - confess! -

For hunger ever bottomless.

Come, still come these spirit-poor men,

Their self-torment without an end,

Waves endless of ignorant sin.

Will their awakening begin?

All of this, - more! - we grieve our own,

Thinking us buried, we were sown!

Poisons in the water they poured,

The Mother’s pure wealth they must hoard.

Yet, where we were cast down and low,

We rose to the morning Sun’s glow!

Embrace your People, stand with pride!

Come what may, we will meet the tide.

Eagles soar and fly, run the deer…

They thought us gone, "We Are Still Here!!!"

-- J.R.H.