Friday, October 28, 2016

Ghost Dance At Standing Rock

Ghost Dance At Standing Rock
© Surazeus
2016 10 28

The more sorrowing pain gouges my heart
the greater its capacity to contain
rejoicing pleasure, so it overflows
with generous love from bottomless spring
that spirits our ghost dance at Standing Rock.

Though they beat us down with clubs, bought by men
who hide behind huge walls of polished stone,
we rise reborn from bright fields of the dead
where our ancestors sleep with roots of trees
that bind our hearts with love to Standing Rock.

Black owl with three eyes brighter than the sun
watches me play my bumbling role in life
from the Tree of Life that sprouts from the heart
of my mother who taught me to sing spells
that guide our way with light to Standing Rock.

Thousands of buffalo spring from the Earth
and trample the tanks of warriors and kings,
then son of Wovoka, blinded too long
by television glam, appears from wind
that batters our courage at Standing Rock.

Raising wand of wisdom that he received
from Hermes, before he was crucified
on telephone pole of gossip, he strikes
foundation of our empire with love spell
that weakens power of greed from Standing Rock.

Water of life springs from the sleeping Earth
and floods the Waste Land where stalks of corn wilt,
then yellow roots curl around my cracked heart
and drink the endless fountain of my love
that flows free from the core of Standing Rock.

Stepping before us with basket of corn,
Onatah places ripe cob in each hand,
so we all drink apple cider and feast
on pumpkin pie by the river of peace
though greedy king strikes back at Standing Rock.

Bright sun gleams green through tattered clouds of fear
so we hold hands and pass through broken fence
to reclaim paradise from nameless kings
where children play chase in cool twilight doom
that shrouds our eyes with fear at Standing Rock.

Though they crush our heads in the dirt of hope,
and stab Mother Earth with steel pipes of greed,
we plant apple trees and corn in rich soil
where roots of justice devour their dead souls
who whisper in moonlight at Standing Rock.

No man owns the water that flows on Earth,
nor controls the currents of wind and sun,
so we dance and sing on meadow of skulls
to love this land where our children play free
in paradise we build at Standing Rock.

1 comment: