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Blood drips onto the path
The Trail, the winding road we march
Blood mixed with tears
No glorious song, no sound of drums
Moans of the dying, shouts of our captors
Daughters of the land, sons of the soil
Chained and dragged

O’er mountain and hill upon the Trail
My heart cries for the land of my fathers
Taken by the white man
Never again to breathe its sweet air
Smells of rain-soaked earth
Calls of the winged and four-footed
A desert before us, this paradise behind
Children of earth and sky
Marching
Along the Trail of blood-washed tears




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@L3Na This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Nov. 12, 2009 at 7:56 pm:
well written! Understandable imagery and I was able to relate/recognize (being a native myself) to what was going on in the poem. :)
 
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