~ My People ~

I see the shadows in the twilight,
Dancing to and fro.
It's the shadows of the spirits,
Of long, long, long ago.

I can hear the warriors chanting,
As they dance around the fire.
It's from the almighty Spirit,
That they draw their power.

You can almost sense the sadness,
Of how it use to be,
When the white man came,
Tortured and killed their family.

They took their land and left them,
As helpless as one can be,
I feel that sense of sadness,
Because I am part Cherokee.

They called these people killers,
I just don't agree.
But that is what they wrote,
When they wrote our history.

We have the Trail of Tears,
A book written long ago.
It tells of my family,
My people I do not know.

I was raised among the white man,
Death and poverty is all I've seen.
So many little white children,
Left hungry and go unclean.

How can you call yourself a people,
When money is your only need.
I don't call this taking care of one another,
I called it nothing more than greed.

To live in the white man's world,
You face death and poverty.
And then to take away your God,
How sad America has come to be.

I would go home to my people,
But they do not know me.
The only life I know,
Is the white man's family.

~*~

Brenda King © 2006

Dedicated to my people,
the people who I never got to know!

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