Homecoming Into Mist
they await us
they await us at home,
they await us when
we have gone away by water.
they await our canoes
they read of us
they read of us in books
they read of us when
the dances are no longer danced
and no songs bathe newborns
they fall in love
they fall in love with us
they pant like summer when
they see our buff, painted bodies
they finger our coming
they look for us
they stand like trees on hills
and look for us when
there's nothing but the river mist
crestfallen are they
they will fight us
they will fight us at home
and will fight us when
we have come with peaceful gifts
they await with knives
--
6 comments:
This is great! Wow. I like your poems alot
I love it. I wish for the last stanza to go away.
I guess it can't.
Yes, Ruth. I wished it to go away,too, but it reflects the times, at least the way I am feeling right now.
And do you feel surrender? Or fight.
You don't have to answer.
Fight most definitely.
The poems are children of the moment and reflect the turmoil I feel.
I feel a lot of turmoil lately. Sometimes I walk about, mumbling to myself "These are the times that try mens' souls..." and "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..."
great poem
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