Untitled

This is a poem written by an old pen pal of mine from 1995. I think his name was Chris, but cannot be sure as he always signed his letters with a C at the end. He lived in Newark Ohio USA at the time with his wife and young son.

I'm posting it here because I think it's so good and wanted to share on abc tales. Hope that's okay, will take off if not. "BUT ALL CREDIT GOES TO HIM."

There wasn't any title for his poem, so I simply calling it Untitled.

There's a single light on the prairie tonight,

wolf howls at the moon as the owl takes flight,

mother holds me close as father smokes his pipe,

I stare at flames in fire as my vision grows slight,

and through my eyes I see

what the eagle says is going to be,

long trails of cloud as my people flee,

running from the great pale beast – I can't believe,

the water and air just aren't the same – it's scaring me,

and I see the animals we worship and love,

from the Elk to the Ant, the Bear to the Dove,

left dead and skinless to drown in their blood,

no respect for their slaughter, rotting flesh in the mud,

I then see our people, shackled in chains,

their land gone and taken, no pride remains,

their families are broken, pale face calls us insane,

young men look to their fathers, they look back in shame,

as I come back I'm sad, I feel so alone – so slight,

when I ask my father, he says “It'll be alright,”

as long as the land, our people will stay,

if not in the flesh, our memories sustained,

and there will always be a piece of us here,

like the Bear, Elk and Eagle, for so many years,

like the wind, the mountain, the river and fields,

even tho we'd be gone, we're still very real,

and I fall asleep under the starry moonlit night,

with the single light on the prairie tonight.

Written lovingly by Chris Estadt of Newark Ohio USA.