Crying out for Hope*

I desperately sought the truth
and fled from the smoke that encircled my native land.
The soil that had once smelt sweet turned unpleasant
as I tread softly across the filthy furrows of the earth.
My blistered hands grasped for the branches of Mother Tree
hoping to bear wisdom in an unchartered territory.

I settled in the Land of the Unknown
where thorns on the fragrant rose stems appeared dull
and the suffocating warmth felt comfortable.
I lost myself in the dark tresses of the earth
when a butterfly perched upon my nose and then fluttered into the sun.
I lay to rest my past as I relaxed my limp limbs upon the aromatic flower beds.

Each morning I awoke with sparkling dew brushed atop my skin,
that kissed my lips like sweet lemon drops and blissfully coated me in splendor.
As I rolled in the open fields I lifted my hands in praise when rain trickled down the rivers of my palms
and flowed North to a distant village.
I gamboled through the rough terrain, cleansed myself in the river, and drank gentle syrup to sweeten my tongue.
I spoke to Mother and promised her I had only been searching for solace.

I believed I had unearthed my utopia.
The webs of the black widow taught me to be fearsome but strong.
The thorns of the rose bushes built my tolerance to pain but unleashed my fears like a pack of wild buffalo.
I begged my people to believe that I had unearthed my utopia…
that I longed to feel the jagged spines of my community and heal it.

Yet, I wept when the diapason of the hummingbirds
danced into my eardrums and beat my soul.
I drowned in tears while the sun shone through the sycamore trees,
illuminating my freckles.
I cried as the butterflies dangled off of my limbs.
But they are not beautiful.

I hopelessly clutched the hands of the natives who stared at me with blank faces.
I spoke to them in a language they no longer understood
because their culture withered and evolved in my absence.
I smelt violence, vice and viciousness in the smoke that choked my memories
so I began to flee, and I promised to never return.
On my way back to the Land of the Unknown, I sang melancholic poems

as I reached my hands up to the air, allowing the sun to cast light upon me from the West and run down the rivers to settle in the East.

Crying out for Hope*

Marie Photography

Joined December 2010

  • Artist

Artist's Description

Written for Honors English during the Native American poetry unit. Constructive criticism would be great :)

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