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Voice breaks in like a wolf's peircing howl,
Spirits flying as high as the owl.
Bells on my ankles,
Feathers in my hair,
Paint on my face,
Hands in the air.
My mind and body going into a trance,
This is called the sacred indian dance.
Love is the obsession,
Forever a burning fire,
Yet my heart will never tire.
Your name in my mind,
Your picture in my dreams,
Obsessions' what you'll find,
Behind my mental screams.
A pale fragile face,
A mix of race,
A deep dark stare.
A sence of peace,
A feeling of anger,
My mouth speaks love,
My hands motion danger.
Many ask who I wish to be,
This is me.
Against the ground her moccasins press,
As tears fall from her dark eyes,
Staining her deerskin dress,
You cannot hear her cries.
All the people are sleeping,
As she stands all alone,
The drum is quiet and the fire extinguished,
She is cold and still like stone.
As she stands there in the midst of the night,
She prays to God, the creator above,
She cannot bear the mourning,
Or her life without her love.
Finally, she could cry no more,
And went inside to warm by the fire,
But still, she dreamed of the only thing,
Her heart would ever desire.
A warrior's mourning widow,
Will her heart ever mend?
A saddened young woman they call,
Voice Like the Wind.
White man believed it was their right,
But what they intended was wrong,
They would not give up the fight,
Until they sang their victory song.
They stole the new world from the natives of the land,
Taking innocent lives for the price of gold,
The natives knew time was at hand,
Before their warm inviting home was to turn cold.
The soldiers came in like a flood,
Without one warning,
All that could be seen was blood,
And all could be heared were songs of mourning.
That was where white man got his start,
And where the the natives ended,
Listen to the echo of their beating heart,
When their arrows were broken and bended.
Your tender ways like a sparrow,
My heart can almost hear it.
Your hair, as dark as night,
Your eyes as black as coal,
Looking deeply into mine,
You steal away my soul.
The door has already opened,
For those spirits to pass through,
A dark future for most,
But life for few.
It all lies in the book with words of its own kind,
Look, seek, and you shall find.
Or be left to see death of the dead,
The days of fire,
And the moon turning red.
I reach out for a helping hand,
But no one is nearby,
The world is deaf and silent,
So no one hears my cry.
I motion with my hands,
But not a soul can see,
And like an animal that lost its herd,
I have only me.
For some, love causes confusion,
In hearts that are unsure,
Our love is their illusion,
Our love is blessed and pure.
Their love is like an icicle,
With spring it will melt away,
But like the infinity of the sun,
Ours is here to stay.
The mountains above so bold and blue,
Sprinkled with the purest white snow,
Over the waters and through my hair,
The brisk sea winds blow.
From a distance a sailboat drifts,
Its mighty sail compresses against the wind,
Like a soaring bird's wings,
Pushing the ship along as the wind hums and sings.
Each ripple reflects every single sun beam,
As I stand here in the warm sands,
Observing a perfect painting like dream.