Before the men of ancient societies no longer here told tales of warring dieties who battled for the adoration and tribute of the many peoples of the world u were there. Before the trillion year devolopement plus, of the initiation, formation and settlement of the galaxy’s stars and planets u were there. A silent, yet perpetually present guardian Lord over everything u willed to be out of ur infinitely creative mastery. The tongues of men have called u by many a name. So Many names… buried by time and forgotten but many still mentioned in our time today. Over the differences of these diversely pronounced titles we slay and ravage eachother in what we believe is ur remembrance. Holy warriors… Cain killed abel out of spite and jealousy, not piety. They both stood with thier offerings dedicated to the same god…yet still the dry dust was wettened and turn red by the blood of one brother killing another. See me my maker!… Examine with ur perfect sight the center of this magical organ of feeling u placed in my chest. Disregard the darkness circling around it but judge it’s core. It screams for ur hand to extract and deliver it from the madness of this temporal and idolistic world! I’ve abandoned all hope in it’s promises… But not urs…

Published by Pack Redfeather

I am a walking contradiction of traditions some say. An African American and Native American Muslim poet with a personal life history as violently turbulent as a Storm. A visionary from the bottom of life’s social barrel striving to share the hope found in the light of faith through sometimes dark but real poetry. I’m a former member of the Bloods street gang, former serial bank robber, and both federal/state prison convict. I live on my mother’s tribal reservation of the Leech Lake band of Ojibwe in Minnesota.

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