Jeckoyva
They made the warrior's grave beside
The dashing of his native time:
And there was mourning in the glen--
The strong wail of a thousand men--
O'er him thus fallen in his pride,
Ere mist of age - or blight or blast
Had o'er his might spirit past.
They made the warrior's grave beneath
The bending of the wild elm's wreath,
When the dark hunter's piercing eye
Had found that mountain rest on high,
Where, scattered by the sharp wind's breath,
Beneath the ragged cliff were thrown
The strong belt and the mouldering bone.
Where was the warrior's foot, when first
The red sun on the mountain burst?
Where -- when the sultry noon-time came
On the green vales with scorching flame,
And made the woodlands faint with thirst?
'Twas where the wind is keen and loud,
And the gray eagle breasts the cloud.
Where was the warrior's foot when night
Veiled in thick cloud the mountain-height?
None heard the loud and sudden crash--
None saw the fallen warrior dash
Down the bare rock so high and white!
But he that drooped not in the chase
Made on the hills his burial-place.
They found him there, when the long day
Of cold desertion passed away,
And traces on that barren cleft
Of struggling hard with death were left--
Deep marks and footprints in the clay!
And they have laid this feathery helm
By the dark river and green elm.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Warrior
Wasnt there a time
When no one lived in pain
Zero down to zero
But a warrior
The innocence of birth
The power of the earth
Out of all thats good
Comes a warrior
Time - is it you who changes minds
Suing us - for something weve not done
Stealing the heroes - all the guiding lights, to find the way
Justice has been gone
To pieces for so long
Some killers call themselves
A warrior
Warriors with no pride
Committing suicide
The picture of a man
Thats your warrior
cause hes a warrior
Yes, hes a warrior
He fights for peace and freedom
cause hes a warrior
Yes, hes a warrior
He fights for peace and freedom
Think about the time
Where manhood promised pride
And history was made
Just by warriors
We have to face the world
And hope that someones heard
Who could replace a man
Like the warrior
cause hes a warrior
Yes, hes a warrior
He fights for peace and freedom
cause hes a warrior
Yes, hes a warrior
He fights for peace and freedom
Time - is it you who changes minds
Suing us - for something weve not done
Stealing the heroes - all the guiding lights, to find the way
cause hes a warrior
Yes, hes a warrior
He fights for peace and freedom
cause hes a warrior
Yes, hes a warrior
He fights for peace and freedom
cause hes a warrior..........
song performed by by U. D. O.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
My Aztec Warrior
My Aztec warrior,
Will you protect me?
My Aztec warrior,
Will you save me?
My Aztec warrior,
Will you love me?
My Aztec warrior,
Will you obey me?
My Aztec warrior,
Will you help me?
My Aztec warrior,
Will you be there for me?
My Aztec warrior,
Are you strong?
My Aztec warrior,
Are you brave?
My Aztec warrior,
Are you fierce?
My Aztec warrior,
Will you stay by my side,
Or will you leave me,
Like everyone else...
poem by Dragon Crenshaw
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Warrior Has Come Home
Waiting all this time for that one warrior,
Challenges through these hard times
Crying and being alone at night,
Her warrior has finally come home.
His life meaningless before,
Day after day
Same routine.
The warrior has finally come home.
The things he has seen
No one will ever know
The cries he has heard
No one will ever hear.
Children in the future
Will never know the pain and fear
Never encounter the enemy
They will be free.
Today,
A parade travels through the city
People showing respect and loyalty,
A warrior has come home.
The end of the parade has finally come,
They lower the casket
With tears in her eyes,
A friend says a few words.
This warrior was brave.
Served his country
No regards to his life
He found peace and meaning to his life.
Shots were heard all over the city,
Heads are bowed in respect for the warrior
Prayers are sent up above
For the warrior who has finally come home.
The Lute-Player
She was a lady great and splendid,
I was a minstrel in her halls.
A warrior like a prince attended
Stayed his steed by the castle walls.
Far had he fared to gaze upon her.
'O rest thee now, Sir Knight,' she said.
The warrior wooed, the warrior won her,
In time of snowdrops they were wed.
I made sweet music in his honour,
And longed to strike him dead.
I passed at midnight from her portal,
Throughout the world till death I rove:
Ah, let me make this lute immortal
With rapture of my hate and love!
poem by William Watson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Way Of The Warrior
Our time has come, get ready fight
Sisters and brothers in metal unite
The dreams that you had are about to come true
The voice of the warrior is calling for you
Turn your own deeds to his gracious glory,
And he will make you see
This is the way we want it to be
This is the way of the warrior
This is the way we want it to be
Walking the way, the honest will see
Walking the way of the warrior
Walking the way, the way of the warrior
Blood-red the steel of our swords shall flow
And by the allegiance were ready to go
Stout are the foe, in warfare so bold
Nothing can stop us, the future we hold
Brace up, defend,
Never ever be outdone in bravery
This is the way we want it to be
This is the way of the warrior
This is the way we want it to be
Walking the way, the honest will see
Walking the way of the warrior
Walking the way, the way of the warrior
The saints and the sinners in battle so bright, as the forces of steel will unite
The way of the warrior, the call of his life, shall lead us all into the light
The metal crusade will conquer all
Our bonds will be stronger, see the infidels fall
Surrender your soul to the gods of steel
In the blood of the fallen the enemies kneel
Turn your own deeds to his gracious glory,
And he will make you see
Brace up, defend,
Never ever be outdone in bravery
This is the way we want it to be
This is the way of the warrior
This is the way we want it to be
Walking the way, the honest will see
Walking the way of the warrior
Walking the way, the way of the warrior
This is the way we want it
This is the way we need it
This is the way of the warrior
This is the way we want it
This is the way we need it
This is the way of the warrior
This is the way
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Earlier Poems : Burial Of The Minnisink
On sunny slope and beechen swell,
The shadowed light of evening fell;
And, where the maple's leaf was brown,
With soft and silent lapse came down,
The glory, that the wood receives,
At sunset, in its golden leaves.
Far upward in the mellow light
Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white,
Around a far uplifted cone,
In the warm blush of evening shone;
An image of the silver lakes,
By which the Indian's soul awakes.
But soon a funeral hymn was heard
Where the soft breath of evening stirred
The tall, gray forest; and a band
Of stern in heart, and strong in hand,
Came winding down beside the wave,
To lay the red chief in his grave.
They sang, that by his native bowers
He stood, in the last moon of flowers,
And thirty snows had not yet shed
Their glory on the warrior's head;
But, as the summer fruit decays,
So died he in those naked days.
A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin
Covered the warrior, and within
Its heavy folds the weapons, made
For the hard toils of war, were laid;
The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds,
And the broad belt of shells and beads.
Before, a dark-haired virgin train
Chanted the death dirge of the slain;
Behind, the long procession came
Of hoary men and chiefs of fame,
With heavy hearts, and eyes of grief,
Leading the war-horse of their chief.
Stripped of his proud and martial dress,
Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless,
With darting eye, and nostril spread,
And heavy and impatient tread,
He came; and oft that eye so proud
Asked for his rider in the crowd.
They buried the dark chief; they freed
Beside the grave his battle steed;
And swift an arrow cleaved its way
To his stern heart! One piercing neigh
Arose, and, on the dead man's plain,
The rider grasps his steed again.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Burial of the Minnisink
On sunny slope and beechen swell,
The shadowed light of evening fell;
And, where the maple's leaf was brown,
With soft and silent lapse came down,
The glory, that the wood receives,
At sunset, in its golden leaves.
Far upward in the mellow light
Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white,
Around a far uplifted cone,
In the warm blush of evening shone;
An image of the silver lakes,
By which the Indian's soul awakes.
But soon a funeral hymn was heard
Where the soft breath of evening stirred
The tall, gray forest; and a band
Of stern in heart, and strong in hand,
Came winding down beside the wave,
To lay the red chief in his grave.
They sang, that by his native bowers
He stood, in the last moon of flowers,
And thirty snows had not yet shed
Their glory on the warrior's head;
But, as the summer fruit decays,
So died he in those naked days.
A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin
Covered the warrior, and within
Its heavy folds the weapons, made
For the hard toils of war, were laid;
The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds,
And the broad belt of shells and beads.
Before, a dark-haired virgin train
Chanted the death dirge of the slain;
Behind, the long procession came
Of hoary men and chiefs of fame,
With heavy hearts, and eyes of grief,
Leading the war-horse of their chief.
Stripped of his proud and martial dress,
Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless,
With darting eye, and nostril spread,
And heavy and impatient tread,
He came; and oft that eye so proud
Asked for his rider in the crowd.
They buried the dark chief; they freed
Beside the grave his battle steed;
And swift an arrow cleaved its way
To his stern heart! One piercing neigh
Arose, and, on the dead man's plain,
The rider grasps his steed again.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Weekend Warrior
The rebel of yesterday tomorrows fool
Who are you kidding being that cool?
Trying to break away from runnung with the pack
But they aint listening so youve gotta go back
Youre a wekkend warrior when youre one of the crowd
But its over, just look at you now...
Youre not so brave the way you behave
It makes you sick gotta get out quick
Its all bravado when youre out with your mates
Its like a different perso goes through those gates
As the game begins the adrenalins high
Feel the tension, maybe someone will die...
A weekend warrior lately
A weekend warrior sometimes
A weekend warrior maybe you aint that way anymore
Youve gotta get out gotta get away
But youre in with a clique its not easy to stray
Youve gotta admit youre just living a lie
It didnt take long to work out why
Its hard to say why you got involved
Just wanting to be part, just wanting to belong...
A weekend warrior lately
A weekend warrior sometimes
A weekend warrior maybe you aint that way anymore
Some of the things that youve done you feel so ashamed
After all its only a game... isnt it?
And after all the adrenalins gone
What you gonna do on monday?
A weekend warrior lately
A weekend warrior sometimes
A weekend warrior maybe you were never like that at all
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Quiet Warrior
Standing in a circle the wolves have come
But they wont bother her, no
cause dancing with her hands of leaves shell sing for them
And ease their hungerin
Shes a quiet warrior.
Standing at the oceans stoney shores
The waves all worship her
She stands in trust and lets the night swallow her
Because she knows that shes a piece of the sun
And a quiet warrior.
You ask her where from the wind blows
Shell say its how the sky sings
And you ask her how does the sun rise
Shell say cause you desire it to be seen
And you ask her how does she make your heart fly
And shell tell you, you know why
Shes your quiet warrior.
Ravens they rest on his golden crown
And steal your soul
He smiles and it feels like youve known him
Yes it feels like coming home
Hes a quiet warrior.
And roaring silently hes a lion
And hell hunt for you
His eyes are warm because his hands they are made of light
And they seduce your soul
Hes a quiet warrior.
You ask him where from the wind blows
He says that the earth breathes
And you ask him how does the sun rise
Hell say that shes got wings
And you ask him how does he make your heart fly
And hell tell you, you know why
Hes your quiet warrior.
Transcribed by dan stark
song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Rock Of Cader Idris
I LAY on that rock where the storms have their dwelling,
The birthplace of phantoms, the home of the cloud;
Around it for ever deep music is swelling,
The voice of the mountain-wind, solemn and loud.
'Twas a midnight of shadows all fitfully streaming,
Of wild waves and breezes, that mingled their moan;
Of dim shrouded stars, as from gulfs faintly gleaming;
And I met the dread gloom of its grandeur alone.
I lay there in silence–a spirit came o'er me;
Man's tongue hath no language to speak what I saw:
Things glorious, unearthly, passed floating before me,
And my heart almost fainted with rapture and awe.
I viewed the dread beings around us that hover,
Though veil'd by the mists of mortality's breath;
And I called upon darkness the vision to cover,
For a strife was within me of madness and death.
I saw them–the powers of the wind and the ocean,
The rush of whose pinion bears onward the storms;
Like the sweep of the white-rolling wave was their motion,
I felt their dim presence,–but knew not their forms !
I saw them–the mighty of ages departed–
The dead were around me that night on the hill:
From their eyes, as they passed, a cold radiance they darted,–
There was light on my soul, but my heart's blood was chill.
I saw what man looks on, and dies–but my spirit
Was strong, and triumphantly lived through that hour;
And, as from the grave, I awoke to inherit
A flame all immortal, a voice, and a power !
Day burst on that rock with the purple cloud crested,
And high Cader Idris rejoiced in the sun;–
But O ! what new glory all nature invested,
When the sense which gives soul to her beauty was won !
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ambition
Unless it was that day I never knew
Ambition. After a night of frost, before
The March sun brightened and the South-west blew,
Jackdaws began to shout and float and soar
Already, and one was racing straight and high
Alone, shouting like a black warrior
Challenges and menaces to the wide sky.
With loud long laughter then a woodpecker
Ridiculed the sadness of the owl's last cry.
And through the valley where all the folk astir
Made only plumes of pearly smoke to tower
Over dark trees and white meadows happier
Than was Elysium in that happy hour,
A train that roared along raised after it
And carried with it a motionless white bower
Of purest cloud, from end to end close-knit,
So fair it touched the roar with silence. Time
Was powerless while that lasted. I could sit
And think I had made the loveliness of prime,
Breathed its life into it and were its lord,
And no mind lived save this 'twixt clouds and rime.
Omnipotent was I, nor even deplored
That I did nothing. But the end fell like a bell:
The bower was scattered; far off the train roared.
But if this was ambition I cannot tell.
What 'twas ambition for I know not well.
poem by Edward Thomas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sunrise on the Hills
I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch
Was glorious with the sun's returning march,
And woods were brightened, and soft gales
Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.
The clouds were far beneath me; bathed in light,
They gathered mid-way round the wooded height,
And, in their fading glory, shone
Like hosts in battle overthrown.
As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance.
Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance,
And rocking on the cliff was left
The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft.
The veil of cloud was lifted, and below
Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow
Was darkened by the forest's shade,
Or glistened in the white cascade;
Where upward, in the mellow blush of day,
The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way.
I heard the distant waters dash,
I saw the current whirl and flash,
And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach,
The woods were bending with a silent reach.
Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell,
The music of the village bell
Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills;
And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills,
Was ringing to the merry shout,
That faint and far the glen sent out,
Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke,
Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke.
If thou art worn and hard beset
With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget,
If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,
Go to the woods and hills! No tears
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Combat. By Etty
THEY fled,--for there was for the brave
Left only a dishonour'd grave.
The day was lost; and his red hand
Was now upon a broken brand,
The foes were in his native town,
The gates were forced, the walls were down,
The burning city lit the sky,--
What had he then to do but fly;
Fly to the mountain-rock, where yet
Revenge might strike, or peace forget!
They fled,--for she was by his side,
Life's last and loveliest link, his bride,--
Friends, fame, hope, freedom, all were gone,
Or linger'd only with that one.
They hasten'd by the lonely way
That through the winding forest lay,
Hearth, home, tower, temple, blazed behind,
And shout and shriek came on the wind;
And twice the warrior turn'd again
And cursed the arm that now in vain,
Wounded and faint, essay'd to grasp
The sword that trembled in its clasp.
At last they reach'd a secret shade
Which seem'd as for their safety made;
And there they paused, for the warm tide
Burst in red gushes from his side,
And hung the drops on brow and cheek,
And his gasp'd breath came thick and weak.
She took her long dark hair, and bound
The cool moss on each gaping wound,
And in her closed-up hands she brought
The water which his hot lip sought,--
And anxious gazed upon his eye,
As asking, shall we live or die?
Almost as if she thought his breath
Had power o'er his own life and death.
But, hark!--'tis not the wind deceives,
There is a step among the leaves:
Her blood runs cold, her heart beats high,
It is their fiercest enemy;
He of the charm'd and deadly steel,
Whose stroke was never known to heal,--
He of the sword sworn not to spare,--
She flung her down in her despair!
The dying chief sprang to his knee,
And the staunch'd wounds well'd fearfully;
But his gash'd arm, what is it now?
Livid his lip, and black his brow,
While over him the slayer stood,
As if he almost scorn'd the blood
That cost so little to be won,--
He strikes,--the work of death is done!
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Wounded Eagle
Eagle! this is not thy sphere!
Warrior-bird, what seek'st thou here?
Wherefore by the fountain's brink
Doth thy royal pinion sink?
Wherefore on the violet's bed
Lay'st thou thus thy drooping head?
Thou that hold'st the blast in scorn,
Thou that wear'st the wings of mourn.
Eagle! wilt thou not arise?
Look upon thine own bright skies!
Lift thy glance! the fiery sun
There his pride pf place has won,
And the mountain lark is there,
And sweet sound hath fill'd the air:
Hast thou left that realm on high?
-Oh, it can be but to die!
Eagle! Eagle! thou hast bowed
From thine empire o'er the cloud!
Thou that hadst ethereal birth,
Thou hast stoop'd too near the earth,
And the hunter's shaft hath found thee,
And the toils of death have bound thee,
Wherefore didst thou leave thy place,
Creature of a kingly race?
Wert thou weary of thy throne?
Was the sky's dominion lone?
Chill and lone it well might be,
Yet that mighty wing was free!
Now the chain is o'er thee cast:
From thy heart the blood flows fast,
Woe for gifted souls and high!
Is not such their destiny?
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Earlier Poems : Sunrise On The Hills
I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch
Was glorious with the sun's returning march,
And woods were brightened, and soft gales
Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.
The clouds were far beneath me; bathed in light,
They gathered midway round the wooded height,
And, in their fading glory, shone
Like hosts in battle overthrown.
As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance.
Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance,
And rocking on the cliff was left
The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft.
The veil of cloud was lifted, and below
Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow
Was darkened by the forest's shade,
Or glistened in the white cascade;
Where upward, in the mellow blush of day,
The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way.
I heard the distant waters dash,
I saw the current whirl and flash,
And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach,
The woods were bending with a silent reach.
Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell,
The music of the village bell
Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills;
And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills,
Was ringing to the merry shout,
That faint and far the glen sent out,
Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke,
Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke.
If thou art worn and hard beset
With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget,
If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,
Go to the woods and hills! No tears
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Poor, Poor Country
Oh 'twas a poor country, in Autumn it was bare,
The only green was the cutting grass and the sheep found little there.
Oh, the thin wheat and the brown oats were never two foot high,
But down in the poor country no pauper was I.
My wealth it was the glow that lives forever in the young,
'Twas on the brown water, in the green leaves it hung.
The blue cranes fed their young all day - how far in a tall tree!
And the poor, poor country made no pauper of me.
I waded out to the swan's nest - at night I heard them sing,
I stood amazed at the Pelican, and crowned him for a king;
I saw the black duck in the reeds, and the spoonbill on the sky,
And in that poor country no pauper was I.
The mountain-ducks down in the dark made many a hollow sound,
I saw in sleep the Bunyip creep from the waters underground.
I found the plovers' island home, and they fought right valiantly,
Poor was the country, but it made no pauper of me.
My riches all went into dreams that never yet came home,
They touched upon the wild cherries and the slabs of honeycomb,
They were not of the desolate brood that men can sell or buy,
Down in that poor country no pauper was I.
* * * * *
The New Year came with heat and thirst and the little lakes were low,
The blue cranes were my nearest friends and I mourned to see them go;
I watched their wings so long until I only saw the sky,
Down in that poor country no pauper was I.
poem by John Shaw Neilson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Warrior, He
Happy is the warrior he
When he journeys in the world of men
To provide for is family
And no one else, but them.
Happy He is those tired nights.
Happy is a warrior wife.
Happy is a warrior man
When he has shelter to rest his head
And when he uses his own two hands
To bring the food, so his family is fed.
So proudly he stand so strait and tall.
As he Fiercely battles vowing not to fall.
A warrior man is that special breed
When he enters the world of man
As he asks for nothing which is free
And takes what only he can.
Though not by lying, stealing or request.
But by hard work, bleeding and sweat.
Happy is the warrior he
When he greets each and every day
When from his home he does leave
To earn himself respect and pay.
Happy he is when he earns respect.
Happy he is when he tires from sweat.
And when it is a warriors time to leave
And he is buried all alone
He shall then enter heaven proud and free
Happy and peaceful, will be his soul.
For he knows on earth he done his best.
And now he deserves his final rest.
Happy is the Lord he
When he calls away a warrior man
For he shall then plant another seed
To bring forth two more working hands.
And he will sweat, and stand as a tree.
And how I wish I was the warrior he.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Warrior's Fear
The warrior waits, with fear.
Fear of never returning
Fear of losing all he has.
Fear for his family, without him.
Fear of letting them down.
Fear of letting his captain down.
Fear of letting his friends down.
The warrior kneels to the ground.
He prays, prays for a long time.
The warrior stands up.
He feels no longer fear, but security.
The warrior charges into battle,
Determined.
Ready.
No longer fearful.
Never to return.
I Knew You Were Waiting
(feat. Aretha Franklin)
Like a warrior that fights
And wins the battle
I know the taste of victory
Though i went through some nights
Consumed by the shadows
I was crippled emotionally
Somehow i made it through the heartache
Yes i did. I escaped.
I found my way out of the darkness
I kept my faith (i know you did), kept my faith
When the river was deep i didn't falter
When the mountain was high i still believed
When the valley was !ow it didn't stop me, no no
I knew you were waiting. I knew you were waiting for me
With an endless desire i kept on searching
Sure in time our eyes would meet
Like the bridge is on fire
The hurt is over, one touch and you set me free
I don't regret a single moment, no i don't looking hack
When i think of all those disappointments
I just laugh (i know you do), i just laugh
When the river was deep i didn't fairer
When the mountain was high i still believed
When the valley was low it didn't stop me
I knew you were waiting. I knew you were waiting for me
So we were drawn together through destiny
I know this love we snared was meant to be
I knew you were waiting, knew you were waiting
I knew you were waiting , knew you were waiting for me
song performed by by George Michael
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Medicine Bag
From the time christened warrior,
‘round his neck, tied by thong.
It like a talisman, mysterious,
the buckskin pouch hung.
As if retaining a secret,
captive, within leather bond.
The warrior cherished the satchel deeply,
for it never left his charge.
Should he ever become troubled,
sought vision of council and wisdom.
With his pouch held to the heavens,
called forth his Spirit Guide.
The warrior gazed into blue skies,
chanting loud his quandary.
Seeking guidance to reveal,
and light the trail to truth.
What magic was held captive,
within that mysterious sack?
He bequeathed upon me earned confidence,
held open that buckskin parcel.
I saw bits of stone, colored beads,
some feathers small.
An arrowhead with broken shaft,
a rifle’s ball stained dark.
He sensed my unasked question,
and spoke with almost reverent tone.
“Each item I have collected,
bears a portion of my life.
To you they may mean naught,
to me each a message.
Sent by my Spirit Leader,
that my time is yet to come.
As long as I carry my Medicine Bag,
life’s battles I shall survive.
Through its magic, should I need,
to speak with my Spirit Leader I may.”
From behind, ominous rattles I heard.
I was sure, my time had come.
I heard the swish of the warrior’s blade.
The rattling at once ceased.
Then in my hand he placed,
six bony beads.
“A message from your Spirit Leader.
Time to start your medicine bag.”28Nov08
poem by Kurt Hearth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!