Sunday, January 22, 2017

Memories of the dance

Upon the ridge of the canyon
A watcher stood
Waiting for a sign
Nigh oblivion
Below him
A gathering was beginning 
Well hidden from the horizon
With fires bright and smoke rising
Sounds from below so mesmerizing 
There was singing, dancing, praising
Of all the gifts of creation
The canyon floor seemed to be moving
As when the bison were one with the land
Though they'd been gone
For dozens of generations
Slaughtered by hunters and soldiers
To starve the indigene
The damned
Who stood
Before progress
Before destiny
Before the will
Of white men
Their consequence
Being forgotten
Written out of history
But now
The sounds  The energy   The stars   The scent
Something was returning this night
Be it ghosts of the hunt or the hunted
The sounds below grew louder
The energy could not be contained
And the watcher was unable
To stop from staring
As the warriors of the past
Responded to the most glorious ghost dance
Where the dead ancestors would rise
And bring the new age with them
Bodies exhausted
Dancers seeking
The passage opening
At last
At last
What a time
To be alive
Offerings of hope
For a renewal
Dancing for change
Throw off impiety
With this Ghost dance entreaty