Albert Martin

A Journey - Poem by Albert Martin

Our blood was spilt
Our dogs were murdered
They burnt every scrub
And then until the last tree
And now you can see
A land that’s bald

Don’t think too much
Endearing armed man
Do not give a chance to fight
If in your guns you confide
You’ll get an answer soon
On how much mad they are

Do not throw your toys
My little boy
To the dump
Leave them on the chariot
For they can be carried
To the new land that already see us come

And there in the large prairie
Among the stones
A church is left behind
And captured inside
Sweet and euphoric prayers
whose writing no longer steals our time
Will there even be a graveyard
Narrowing our new home?

Topic(s) of this poem: journey

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Poem Submitted: Monday, May 18, 2015

Poem Edited: Wednesday, July 29, 2015

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