Living With The Ancestors

The good old days brought to life.

Living With The Ancestors

There must be more than stars out there

Blinded by the light inside the cave

Small fires burn to keep the people safe

Hunched over men use finger paints

Maps and wild beast are drawn on walls

The hunt begins at morning by the moon

Stones and sticks are fashioned to a point

Weapons of choice carved from imagination

Primal people create devices to stay alive

To save the tribe from hunger pain

Poisons lurk in many of the hidden plants

Women pray to mushroom gods for knowledge

As they gather berries and fungus from the ground

Hairy men grunt and kiss the wife good-by

Going off to hunt might not seem glamorous

In fact it’s primitive. It is survival.

Life is given up to chance

It’s not always pretty but it’s a living