SPIRITS SPEAK

SPIRITS SPEAK FROM THE TRAIL OF TEARS TO THE DEATH MARCH
 

Emerging from trees I don't need to be told this is the place.

In the clouds that envelop the setting sun I see his face.

One that I have only ever seen in faded black and white photos.

Torn, frayed at the edges, who is it that they show?

I've studied it but he had always remained a mystery to me.

A man I've heard about in stories, one I never got to see.

I've followed the death march he, and others, were forced to do

and now I'm faced with what might have been his last view

of a world that had turned its face away from his, and others', fate.

As I walk further I swear his spirit speaks through the soil and not in hate.

He feels he's a lesson to all of us not to forget that we need to love.

Then he's gone and I imagine him looking down on me from above.