My first attempt at Free Verse poetry. |
Oldwarrior’s Quest The signs grow faint with the dying sun and my thundering heart stretches like a woman ripe with child while the blinding heat in my mind flows freely like the slithering embers of a dying fire. The Kiowa are not people blessed of First Man but are woven from evil spirits who haunt and rape our land and steal our children, leaving burdens of anger and guilt and lost memories like the cold whispering of the midnight wind. Among them now my youngest child is tightly held in the powerful grip of an enemy warrior, his arms bulging with pride, his brutal face marked with the joy of desecration and his tribe proud and savoring the silent cunning and arrogant bravery he eagerly displays. I am not bid to cry at the theft of a son nor the martyrdom of a brother, but one who aches for the gentle smile and wistful grace of a single daughter, whose joyful eyes and pouting lips fills the heart of this ancient warrior to overflowing and bends his mind to thoughts of happiness his eyes to tears of joy and his soul to jumping from spirit to body and back again. Of this I swear on this trail of tears, my soul will leave on its journey to the great beyond before I turn back from this mighty quest for I will be victorious or I will be no more. My greatest treasure will be returned in all her mortal grace full of the splendor given unto her by the Great Spirit, our enemies will bear witness to the power I bring among them and will bend their heads in awe and shame while the old women will tear out their hair and weep for forgiveness. Line count 30 |