RickyLee Barber (7/1960 / Arkansas)
Knelt on a mesa, the warrior cries.
A spirit shaped cloud rises towards the sky.
Hailing ancestors that trailed in the past,
summoning tradition as his shadow is cast.
Two Eagles fall in a spiral of death,
as a feather floats slowly to it's final rest.
Claimed by the warrior as a sign from the gods,
and placed by his side on a mound of sod.
The future is sought as an image arrives,
a white horse cloud with a stranger astride.
Eyes aglow and skin of pale, the warrior
listens to the riders tale.
He warns the brave of things to come,
the lives that are lost, the absence of love.
The warrior screams as the vision dissolves,
and one lone tear begins to fall.
The warrior cries.
Comments about this poem (The Warrior by RickyLee Barber )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley