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The Path
As we walk down the path
that the whites have cruelly laid down
against our destinies
into foreign land
I think about the graves we have dug
the illnesses that have invaded us
the many tears of pain that have
stained our hearts
As we walk down this path
filled with the never-ending stream of tears,
of hate, of sorrow
I see the lands we have worked
grow smaller and smaller in the distance
As we walk down the path
covered with the footsteps of grief-filled people
those who have lost others who once filled their hearts
those who have lost all hope
those who see this as a lost battle
As we walk down this agonizing path
I grow skeptical of the brave warriors who
say we have lost the battle yet not the war
But as I look into their eyes and delve into
their souls I hear their silent shouts
and see the tears that have never been let out
go down their faces only to release a drop of pain at a time
As we walk down the path
of endless cold nights, dark woods
night skies with the most pitiful stars
days without sunshine, without color
all that we see being darkness and
the red of the blood drained from our people
As we walk down the path
I pursue an empty future
and walk right into the path of nothingness
that disrupts the call of the Indian ancestors
*This poem was actually inspired by tales about the Trail of Tears, an aspect of American history that, though painful, is truly essential towards genuinely understanding the true significance of the words The United States of America.
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