Poetry: Wounded Knee

Wounded Knee- A Message

Do not think the dead
are voiceless

I have heard the women
wailing in the breeze. 

Even the rocks sing
and the drumming of wings
is there if you listen.

There is a rattle
through the long grass
speaking

We are still here. 

If you have come to 
bury our names, go.
Do not return

until you can hear
the heartbeat in the echo
of the grave- 

until you can see
the amazing grace
of sunset 
through the trees. 

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