I’m standing here outside my door,
Looking at the distant shore.
The great waves that come crashing down,
Melt slowly back without a sound.
Glancing back, I see my village,
Which other tribes may pick and pillage.
With tall trees shading most the ground,
No one is just standing ‘round
Turning again, there's something new,
A small black speck engulfed in blue.
Slowly, steadily, closer it gets,
Now I see, that it’s a ship.
A pang of fear grips me fast,
As I gaze up at the mast.
The shining cannon at the stern,
Is enough to make me churn.
And the men who man the sail,
With hair and faces fair and pale.
They came and ran us off our land,
Just as if we’re made of sand.
What I thought would last forever,
Ended up smashed and scattered.
The hope and pride we called our own,
Is now a strange new peoples home.
My people then were poor and weak,
And most the world, would turn their cheek.
And now as time goes passing by,
My people slowly start to rise.
Amidst the ever changing tides,
We've conformed to newer times.
And so the point of this you see,
We never know what is to be.
And the things we think will last,
End up forgotten in the past.
~Rebekah Plummer~
I wrote this when I was at a writing camp, and we were told to write a poem about something we are passionate about. I love learning about native Americans, and I think what European Americans did to them was awful, but that isn't really the point of the poem.
I wrote it from a native's perspective, of what I think they would have felt, and thought; and at the end its just talking about that you never know if what you think is always going to be there, that it could be gone the next day, and you never expect it.
I hope you enjoy this!
Till next time!
