The Faded Village

chiefs from google

My brothers, I cannot understand it,

the people were my lifeblood for so long,

now my pen hardly remembers.

Is the village still there?

Did you go to the mountains?

I can still see the earth,

your story, uplifted,

faded memory, calling to be clear,

feathers on a bridle, hunting for fresh food,

families, around the fire,

the cold is beginning to lift now,

with the sun I can see us again,

talking, smoking the pipe,

my pen busy with fire,

even if I do not live there,

I will be sure to visit sometimes.

Be strong my brothers, be free.


 Note: This poem is about inspiration changing over time, which is natural. However, I truly miss writing about First Nations people, and the inspiration.

Blessings to everyone and PEACE!

Poetry © Copyright 2015, nicodemasplusthree

images from google


11 thoughts on “The Faded Village

  1. I want to visit them, the places they have walked… to touch the ground, catching the dust from their feet. To smell the air and aromas that came in the morning when they walked the mountains and waited the guidance for their path today. Wouldn’t it be so great to see the Native people be well, standing in the multitude today?
    Thank you for the poem… again and again you tell the stories of their lives. Peace.

    1. Vik, it is so good to hear from you my brother. I’m with you on this, sometimes though the Creator has other inspirations for us and we move on. I will still visit with the people. In fact I have a short piece planned for tonight. Blessings to you and much peace!

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