Blood Over The Stolen Hill

I believe I
was a…
Apache in
a former
life…
Sharpening
my tomahawk…
With stones…
Draped my
Face
Drenched
Over war
paint…
Finger
tips
Dipped in
the blood
from my
adversary’s…
Treacherous…
I was chief
A running gun
Five star
Buffalo
general…
Tougher
Then
bull
Horns…
Calcium
That was
strong…
Like
The aroma
of menthol…
Giving out
orders…
Raising thee
Young…
Wise
tribe in
Native pride…
Proudly…
Many
died on
that
hill yet…
We
Keep
them in
our prayers…
We
pushed back
our intruders
infantry block…
Mowing
down the
lives thee
Unworthy
opposition…
Pale white
Dirty skin,
Filty men…
Trying
to take our
land
Kill and
Rape our
Wives
And children
for
to satisfy
There own
Evil greedy
Needs…
I screamed…
This tribal
Chant…
This Soil
And moss
Rivers
And animals
I will protect
Everyone
With in it
In peace…
If it’s
Blood you
Seek…
It will
Be your
Own
blood
You will
See…
We did battle…
After
those
long
wars
Those
enemy’s
were
demolished…
They will
Have no
Choices…
As
Always
The
respected
Elder…
For our
bravery…
My men
will be
Recognize…
Till the
death of
Me… I’ll
Inherited
war like
mentality
Lost… to
Be slaughtered
In hatred…
Still I strive
To leave in
Peaces of
Moss….
Never forgotten
ancestors
Of the Apache…

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