Guerrero rode in on a river of dust and light last night.

It had been seventy-two moons since I'd seen him.

 

Wearing a sarape of woven dreams,

words flowed from his mouth as glowing feathers.

 

A cloud of smoke swirled around his head

as he mumbled some prayers under his breath.

 

I guess he knew I'd been contemplating the Bigger Picture --

planet, culture, survival, sustainability.

 

He said he was just 'blowing through'

and only had one thing to say to me.

 

It is shameful how much of everything is being lost

all because people don't know how to manage

their compulsions, fears, and nerve endings.

How rare to find the presence of a True Human Being.

 

With that, I awoke

with a whole new understanding

of the wars that go on,

on the inside,

and out.


(c) 2017 / Frank Saizan Owen / purelandpoetry.com

sound: World's Edge, Steve Roach

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