Dreams and Magic!

  And he came from the East, the one who spoke of better things,
  of mysteries that lay within the hearts of those who dream,
  shadows in the nights moon silvered streams.

    A hero he was called, that black haired dark skinned man,
    narrow eyes star bright and midnight black,
    tied to his horses mane was a tiny wooden bow, toy small and deadly.

    Death followed in his path, no fear of good or evil ruled his life,
    neither gold no silver swayed his decisions, right or wrong no other reasons,
    once made up there was no changing.

    Do the screams of pain cause you pause, does the dripping blood bring sickness,
    are your insides yet twisting, can you walk the road unguarded,
    do laughing monsters stalk you?

    Speaking such a strange language, so charming in his every action,
    both male and female followed, so many glowing tales of promise,
    even the animals ran to his bidding.

    In his hands he carried a magic so inviting, come he whispered and be my People,
    see the strength of my army, so few and yet we rule, we have never been beaten,
    and they believed.

    Inspiring were his words of hope, lifting spirits that had already given up,
    a dance my friends and singing, fires lit and such music,
    hunters bringing food unseen for ages.

    Taking control of all within reach, it was not long before they knew their mistake,
    a god or worse, with no name, but the stories would forever tell,
    or would they?

    Only at remote fires, would the legends survive,
    no mother ever birthed such as he, born of the Earth and ancient prayers,
    brought to defend a children innocent of deceit.

    Now of course they knew, the great dogs were called horses,
    but first sight had been more than frightening, and the sound of guns terrifying,
    louder in fact than thunder.

    Shackled now, tied behind and dragging,
    no longer was there happy laughter, slapped and beaten into silence,
    work by day with no complaining, perhaps that night you were eating.

    Into his control our lives are taken, entire villages lay smoking,
    women, children, and elders left dead and dying,
    the screams forever echo in the valleys along the river.

    The hidden warriors tried so hard to help us, and once there was hope he was defeated,
    if only to the old ones we had listened, never is magic freely given,
    blood is the price.

                                              Creator knows we paid it!



granny