Let your soul rest for now.
Let the breeze carry you
and whisper your songs across the California lands so your ancestors can listen.
I know the lands are different now,
divided by imaginary lines
imposed upon by pale faces,
but nonetheless,
it is still your home.
Let the Earth envelop you in its motherly arms and sing you lullabies about your people's traditions.
I know your land has been stolen,
but they can never steal your identity away from you.
Let the rivers erode your sadness so that hope can refill itself in you.
I know there is great suffering ingrained in your blood, haunting you in vivid dreams,
but there is also great strength that resides in your being.
Nothing can ease the trauma of what you carry—
the afflictions so devastating
that even the skies cry with you.
But close your eyes, dry your turquoise tears,
and know that your spirit is unbreakable.
YOU ARE READING
The Ebb & Flow of Virtue
Poetry~ There is good and bad constantly warring with each other inside you, a small voice resounds in my conscience just as my vision dips underneath the salty water, it is similar to how the land fights with the sea, the sky with gravity, the light...
