A young brave sat on the edge of the clif
Looking out across the gorge --
Oh, Great Spirit, I do pray,
Make me a worthy man;
My people are few,
And they grow hungry
As the white man destroys our land:
Show me, Father, how to be brave
And worthy of their trust.
Oh, Great Spirit Father, in all
Help me understand
Why we all cannot get along together --
There is land a-plenty, and enough food for all:
Why must white men think they must take it all
And leave my people nothing?
Father, help me see how there can be peace
When lies are on their tongues;
The pipe of peace means nothing to them --
War is what they want.
My heart is heavy, my soul grows weak;
Father, please help me understand
If death is to be at hand.
A contest entry
- Story Time! by BeautifulCalamity08.
525 points, ended January 5, 2007, 41 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Wisdom by Tweedle Dee.
650 points, ended January 17, 2007, 32 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - GEMORTWO by x Bright Eyes x.
450 points, ended January 13, 2008, 23 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 13 of 13
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It makes me sad to think that a brave needs to pray to the spirit to understand the white man and his greed and all of his terrible ways. If white man had stopped to listen and understand in the first place, there would not have been any need for this prayer, rather something much different. This brave sounded so lost, yet he still held onto his beliefs regardless of white mans misery thrust upon him and his people. Such a heartfelt write that speaks so deeply of the natives. I loved the flow of this, the prayer so filled with feeling and longing. Thank you so much for sharing.
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condor
i guess it was unpreventable the whiteman coming, it was the way he did it that was unthinkable
ive seen my people suffering even now in these modern times from the lack of truths promised them..i am deeply touched by your tender heart niaish for leaving such a heart felt comment for all to read
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So many gone......
willing to even share the cornucopia of bounties with invaders...
the true beautiful people of this land....
painted in the forest...
so many ghost in the forest....
Truly a beautiful and stirring piece.
Bless you my sister,
Lowell
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"Oh, Great Spirit Father, in all
Help me understand
Why we all cannot get along together --
There is land a-plenty, and enough food for all:
Why must white men think they must take it all
And leave my people nothing?"
These words ring so true, why could we not all get along and live in peace. It makes me so angry for what my ancestors have done. What a powerful write thanks for speaking up. Amazing write sis
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This fine write can find its depths in all colors of life.
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That is a wonderful prayer, and well written.
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hi i like this and i liked the way you used your words and the style thanks for entering my contes
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absolutely wonderful
Best of luck in the contest to you.
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Didn't see how this fit, so I'll be removing. Sorry.
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Awesome write! Just plain awesome!!! This is one I wish I could say that I wrote!!
"the pipe of peace means nothing to them"
A very true statement! It is a crying shame how the white man took so much from the Native Indians, but they could not take their Dignity nor their Faith!
I'm just amazed girl!!!
GBY
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I think this can be more than just a brave's prayer. We see such an endless cycle of violence amongst people groups. I would that all of us would ask God to make us worthy men and women. Where would we be if this were our prayer? I know that so many men don't have the first clue as to what this means. I do pray that we would find the strength for the day to keep giving and loving no matter what. I do enjoy your works.
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Oh, this is very moving. I love your poems and this is one of the reasons why. I love the way it flows like when my Pop-pop used to talk to me! This is definatly one of the ones I will come back to reread.
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What is left to say that I have not said. You have done well and wrote a truth from your heart and history. It is as always a pleasure and honor to read your works as they always seem to be a labor of love that you have penned.
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