Indigenous

Posted by Brad Osborne on August 22, 2020 · 18 Comments 

 

 

It has been more than a century

Since we hunted them like prey

But since we could not kill them all

Made reservations to hide them away

 

 

And all the lies and false promises

That stole them from their lands

Were wrapped in greedy wishes

And fingers crossed on hands

 

 

E’en now, we won’t honor our words

We turn our eyes to avoid the sight

In dried adobe, the crying’s unheard

And we willing forget their plight

 

 

This has been the white man’s way

Assured we take more than we give

Casinos and alcohol help the decay

Of the glorious culture once lived

 

 

Oh, what we could have learned

Of natural balance and inspiration

From the natives that we spurned

Left to die on those reservations

 

 

Is now just too late for us to see

Or too hard to own our sad faults

Will this be the only history

Of how our home was bought

 

 

Filed under Poetry · Tagged with americans, conquered, culture, decimation, indians, indigenous, nation, native, people, poem, Poetry, pride, reservation, society, strict form poetry