The Vultures Will Circle

Rich soil, fed by time and memories

Lost children, who once prayed on their knees

They lived in simple times; simple lives

Animal-fur comfort and stone knives

Family extended to the lake

Pride and honor meant a lot at stake

Pale-faced strangers coveted their joy

Days later, a missing girl and boy

Husbands broken by wives in anguish;

Agony to think kids might perish

Knees buckle and flames lick at the sky

Demanding of the gods…why O why?

Horses prepared and trackers at hand

Hide satchels brimmed with food to withstand

Nourishment to walk miles in one day

Reading nature’s signs, as is their way

Bent branches and footsteps in the snow

Eagles call, sharing all that they know

Morning passes and progress is made

Thoughts consumed by visions of a raid

Every second worth more than gold

Vengeance is ice, making blood run cold

Hatchets at the ready; bows flexed tight

Thieves wary but fathers aim to fight

There’s a single moment when eyes lock

Tongues weigh moot points; there will be no talk

Silence severed by an arrow’s dive

No prisoners; no one left alive

Tethers round tiny wrists quickly sliced

Vultures circle; appetites enticed

Kids run to fathers, wearing relief

Precious boon; lives lost bring no grief

Justice makes the heart beat melody

Thanks go to gods who answered a plea

Victory shortens the journey home

Faith renewed and skin thickened like chrome

Village children drag sticks on the run,

Bragging to all how the trackers won

Anxious mothers hug returning kids

Cure for solace and puffy eyelids

The tribe is whole again; the void filled

Not one moment spent on blood spilled

A happy note versus tragedy

A harmonic life does not come free

This tale drifted like a loosed balloon

Word settled in by the next full moon

Local tribes were known to celebrate

 But white faces fanned feelings of hate

Uniforms were donned and rifles stocked

Finding the raided group leaves all shocked

Bodies nibbled, and scorched by the sun

Outrage squeezes lungs like a dropped ton

Proper graves are dug; dead laid to rest

Men are fueled to carry out their quest

Plumes of smoke are telltale signs puffed white

Soldiers use this trail to aid their plight

Fear drives them just as much as fury

Back then, this was a mobile jury

Murder disguised as a magistrate

Warped justice masquerading as fate

A village is stormed; life is taken

Few left standing; survivors shaken

Assumption wears a macabre face

Early death for those in the wrong place

This village knew nothing of the war

Action that leaves an uneven score

One wrong builds walls, which fall stone by stone

Till all are crushed – a dire epitome

Revenge is a circle carved in skin

Both sides lose; the reaper claims the win

Clarity ends the war; pride swallowed

Peace…the leader that should be followed

Wisdom believes these words to be true

Hate is a closed mind where war can brew

Both sides feel passion; both have a creed

Every garden can bloom a weed

We choose to grow it or deny life;

We squelch the hate or die by its knife

Copyright 2009 <> Sheila Roy