Indian Mists / Story Poem

Indian Mists

Story Poem

I am old as I gaze into the shadows of time.
I see all that was fore told in the mists.
My old eyes grow weary from traveling to the lakes of gathering.
Weak I am, yet strong I see the New beginnings in the clouds.

Many moons have passed since I was a young maiden.
Many are the ceremonies I have seen.
Many a gathering of the tribes.
Carefree days into the woods with the mother's and children.

Seeing our young braves leave for the hunts.

Knowing the four winds protected us from the four corners.
Open lands for all to roam.
Buffalo roaming in hundreds to feed us.
Mother Earth nourishing our souls, spirits and bodies as we grew.

The soft spilling of the water's, flowing and softly whispering to the sun.

The deer as though lifted on feathers , playing in fields of golden beams.
The tribes gathered for the Spring to come.
The gathering for all tribes to unite and know of each other again.
Traveling from afar to see all the tribes.

To enjoy the old ones as well as the new ones.

Fires burning and eyes and ears listening as the old ones tell of days passed and days to come and the future to come.
Of our forefather's who still walk this Earth in pain.
O women and children who still cry out in broken spirits.
Where wolves roam and protect us all deep with in our ways.

I am old and weary, but I am Butterfly Woman.
I am healer of the people, a worker of the woods and herbs.
Many moons have come and went and I see all that is and was around these weary eyes.
Soon I will need to hunt the roots to make my medicines to heal my tribe.

Soon, so soon, the shadows grow long and I weary.
As a young maiden I learned the healing from the old one.

I learned patience and peace within my spirit.
I taught respect by my tribe for all.
Our world so peaceful.
As I look into the mists I see time slow almost to a stop.

I see men coming and our tribes in pain and sorrow.

Buffalo dwindling to nothing.
In the mists I see the white buffalo turn and disappear.
I hear the mourns of the Old One's as the villages disappear into the winds.
Our braves lost in a white man's world.

Our brother's and sister's and young left with only our eye's wide as our spirit's cry.

Then all is quiet around the fire.

The old one speaks of the New to come.
"The Indian will not die,
but will survive and surpass the white eye's in all ways.
It may be centuries to come, but all who sit here now will hear the wisdom of the fore father's and they shall rise up once more.

We who have been put as savages will adopt and marry many and we will multiply throughout the world.
We will bring the tribe back together by the half blood as well as the whole.
We will keep our teachings of our fore father's and Chief’s, as well as learn all the New Way's."

As I sat listening to all I saw the Chief's of the past walking and riding into the circle of Fire and they too stopped to hear the wise one speak of the old, and present and Future.

Their eye's glistening into the eyes of all who sat there.
I watched as the tribe's seemed to grow and multiply and the wolf howled in the night as all from the past, present and Future joined as one here at the circle.

The fire grew as did the circle around it as the old one's stood and saw and knew that what they had seen had come to pass.
Many new warriors’ came and went and the sightings kept changing with the times.
Many grew stronger and multiplied and took all within the circle and the circle grew
right before those weary eyes.

As the fire died down and I hobbled off to sleep,
I saw vision's of the tribes growing with all the new generations to bring the tribe's back to the lands and to live peaceably the rest of their days.

As told the Seven Clans are still here and the ways have been taught , and the New way's and many are the half-breed's and half- blood's and many are the Indian's who open their arm's to all who would enter and be called Chief, Mother, Sister, Brother, Little Ones, and Family.

There are no stranger's to the Tribes as we know.
All who come in Peace and follow the ways and traditions and wish to grow are welcomed once more into the circle.

And I as a old one sleep the sleep of the dead.
Healer, Butterfly Woman, long gone to the past, but knows there comes the New and as one of the old, I watch the mist's and all is growing daily to come.
As told by the Fore Father’s, all will come to pass and all will know of the Indian.
We have survived, we are many.
We are Indian.

And with the mists the old one died and her thoughts and word's were passed down to all the generation’s that came and went and grew.
And the circle did grow and around it were there as the old one, the past, the present and then with a flow so strong the Future and all were here to stay as they all are today.
I know so well for I am one of those Indian's that here are the Future and I see all that the old one and many more have seen.



There are many of us still.....
The Circle grows.......
"Walk In Peace"

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