Spiritual

I walk 
head down 
through the bitter cold 
only a light buckskin for warmth 
there is little food and no time for rest 
 
I am near the front 
no idea how many are lost 
the old, the sick 
the little ones 
 
the memory of these days 
along the Trail of Tears 
will die 
like the drowning embers of a once mighty fire 
 
these horrors will not be spoken of 
in the teachings of those whose greed and cold hearts 
outweighed their compassion 
whose concrete jungles mar 
the once majestic landscape 
 
the years of separation grows 
but the atrocities shall never be vanquished 
in the realm of the Spirit World 
and those who initiated the culling 
pay their penance 
walking the trail for eternity