Last Path

Their Journey.

Last Path

Dancing on the mountain, in free spirit:

Barefooted, eagles rise in the west wind toward the new frontier, Shedding blood trails: Odyssey seal in silence: with no trace of an Ancestral Legacy: Path the Niagara River freely, and unrestrained: Coast to coast high above the Appalachian mountain Peaks, smoke signals exhaust fading light; overlooking what’s never be spoken of or forgotten, a decoded secret of our native land. To our journey’s end, when night falls on the open plains; Sitting Bull gazes at the unfolding crescent moon. Distant beating drums, orbiting their passage into the unknown. Which makes its rhythm seem only a synthetic memory.           

Author's Note

What was once sacred?