Ronald Shields - Ci Oyate*

The savage stick
does not come softly,
it is swift,
full of vengeance
in the white hand of justice.

The ravenous maw
spits steel,
turns thunderous herds
into bleached memory;
for tongues, for skins,
for the sport of kings.

Comes the march,
for death,
for the red day
passing into a long night
where lost languages fester
in spirits raw and dull.

The trail
The tears

The Circle

The World remains a dream intact.

When brown hands
wield the savage stick
like a plowshare
the earth will green,
The People will dance
and chant the world anew.

*Lakota for The People

Ronald Shields

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