Trail of Tears
February 24, 2017
I woke this morning,
to the sound of women
moaning
to hoofbeats of fleeing ponies
and the sound of cries louder than
the war drums of which the
drummers played a panicked frenzy.
Two hours after
our pride and power is no more
we Cherokees have fled our homes
Women, men, and children alike watering the path with
bitter tears,
abhorrence growing in our bosoms
as the pallid ones withered us with derision.
I look around and see
the weak drop to the ground
pestilence is king and fatigue its queen
My pony reared,
and I lay there, not wanting to go on,
not wanting to live,
not caring about family, love, life,
nothing could make me go on with this,
this search for nonexistent Hope,
I am but a powerless squaw of a dead man
on a pony,
fleeing home with the sound of guns in my ears
and a bit of lead in my heart
but not in my soul
I looked at fate
right in the
bore