Poetry in Narrative.

Slaughtering Solace.

Slaughtering Solace.

A young chief steps down

from his mount and breathes...

Striking camp, seeing tranquility,

he breathes, deeply and sees.

The rambling brook

that tumbles and rolls,

then falls beautifully;

noisily splashing in prisms.

Rainbows rising

high above the mist.

Seemingly hanging

endlessly in midair.

While moose, elk and bison

frolic around a basin below.

Salmon splash in a frenzy.

Grizzles stock up for winter.

Still, in time, water falls,

turning mist to icicles.

Hanging from shoulders of braves

observing from pits of fire.

The scenery perfect,

water and food, abundant;

then chaos, smoke, noise.

Animals afraid, running,

thundering hooves closing.

Swordsman with spears

dressed in shiny steel.

Helmets cold as their hearts;

plundering for greed ensues.

The chief shouts,

"To the falls,

behind its walls;

Inside we shall go...

Let these men take

what it is

they do not own".

"Pass the water's edge

showering this land,

lies the black hill's

still in abundance for our band".

Many a hill crossed.

Many a river waded through.

Settling, the inland lake is vast.

Downed trees; the first canoes.

A people once forsaken.

Flourish and thrive.

'Till a net is cast abroad,

once more consuming the sky.

Like a virus gripping,

stealthily stealing away

the olden lighted ways.

A totem carved in stone

can never really portray

what the heart feels...

Everything grown is reaped.

Everything reaped is sown.

A young chief concealed a family

torn away from their home.

As plagues spread through a land,

people forgotten start anew;

unforeseen tragedies reveal blessings.

Disguises held as truths.

Perseverance shows itself

wonderfully, gracefully,

brightly as a mother's love.

A young chief smiles;

happily under clouds

of violet and gold,

he knows wealth treasured

has always been within the soul.

A.o.R.