Preludes (t. s. eliot style)

AS SUMMER evening settles in
her sultry breath breathes through backwoods.
Sunset kneels to misty mountains
and long forgotten worldly goods.
The rusted pail, the wagon wheel
will not conceal the Trail of Tears
that carried feet through many days
and many nights – or hide mistreat
of folks that wore a distinct face
or lived a life, now incomplete,

I thought about their lights going out
as darkness set my stars about.

I woke to drifting cooler air
and yet could not forget my thoughts –
I wondered why the world repeats
injustices and warring feats. And who am I?
but just a face that in my prime seeks out
new peace while brothers stalk the streets
of time, committing scenes of passing crimes.

Iraq, Iran, the Middle East
will not contend that life is sweet –
they wake the women from their sleep
and shake the children’s place of peace
and threaten all who don’t agree
that their way weaves religious truths
into a plan that oft’ confuses
all that I believe!

Another Trail of Tears evolves
as others walk that lonely path;
forget that what was once unknown
has come to raise some souls homegrown
and terror wears a brand new face.

For those who thought the human race
was making strides for tolerance
now find those thoughts have gone
askance and darkness reigns
in sultry sands as I await relief …

“Good grief!” I say, as women weep
and men remember long-gone years –
when missions caught folks unaware
and forced them on that trail of tears!