merciful spirit

in a quiet space and moment, my thoughts

are harkened, trying to understand why life
has taken this turn where so much hate
and anger is dictating day after day in the
world around me and in a moments reprieve
i reflect upon my lineage of simpler times

i rise from a land of old

play in valleys paved of brush and stone
herald of feather crown wear and
ask of many gods depending on my
diurnal needs thus how the sun ascends and
the moon rests in its darkness overhead  

my soul consumes the riches of the forest,

breathe the air that blows the berries from
the bush and when cold, my wrappings
are of the garb from whilst the meat
i eat and i drink from the glistening stream that
runs down the side of the mountain god

my family of Nahuatl from Aztlan would labor

to build with carved stone laddered mounds so high
so as not to reach the sky but to be eye to eye
with the mountain god so that we could ask….
wherefore are we to be many suns and moons from now,
will they remember us and this of simpler times

oh spirit of old, who used to embrace my soul

when the moon would smile as it watched
the sun rise in the eve of day, transcending into
a life of simple joy and contentment, unfurling the
dark shadows with light where wisdom resides,
please wrap your arms around me and tell of
the stories of yore, fill my soul with love once more