Ode To My Brother In Blood-Pete Smith

They were once a proud people. But we made them poor. We gave them cheap beads and blankets, rot gut liquor, sickness and more, broke their hearts and their families and children tore. We took away their land. We took away their meat. Left it lying on the prairie to rot in the sun and heat. Just so some city dude could have himself a fancy hat. We shook their hands, called then friend and stabbed them in the back.

I lived with them, rode with them, loved some like a brother. My Lord, I can't understand why we want to kill one another. Surely we all came, from the same side of heaven.We were white, they were brown; but all the blood on the ground was the same, as it flowed from one another. It was all red and it was all hot and warm the moment it was spilled. Then it turned a sticky black on the fields where we were killed.

Their children, our children our wives and families the same.We loved, they loved, who was really to blame? We came to take what they knew was theirs. Many of my brothers would have shared, had we pursued another way. By we by force of might and power stole, the way the white man had always done, we took it with the gun. But we did not reckon their resolve to hold their ground, stand like men not run.

That was Centuries ago now. Many are broken still. The survive on the scraps the white men give till their last breath they gasp. Then with hope and anticipation they move in hope to a better place at last. A place where the Buffalo roam, the deer and wildlife still play Where great warriors and chiefs still govern their people with wisdom, kindness, goodwill.