A Mind Infinite

Infinity: The Views of a Dreamer

Native Blood

Built on the land of the dead tribesmen,

dancing white figures in a ball stumble around drunkenly

Until they fall,

dancing and laughing

The greed of the men,

firmly set in stone

Just as one by one with sticks that propelled fire,

filled the Native tribesmen with cold American lead

The land forever cursed,

a curse that only promises death for those who enter this land

At the end of the night,

when the lights glow dim and the music all but ceases

The men in fine European suits,

slaughter their brothers with hatchets

Deadly action,

for the deed to the land

Little did the men know,

the snowfall came in covering the estate in a cold flakey blanket

The men slaughtered with hatchets remain in their rooms,

to be discovered on winters end

The land once more,

has doomed all those who stand within

For the snow is too thick,

and the winter far too harsh to cross




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This entry was posted on March 29, 2014 by in Poetry and tagged , , , , , .


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