sexta-feira, 5 de setembro de 2025

Pottawatomie

 Those swords that cut the people down
hands that shivered in the frosty dawn
smiles turned into shocked faces of doubt
hollow nightmare they begged let me out

The killers and their victims sense of death
That traumatic experience until the last breaths
last screams, those last drops of blood had fallen
swinging sword stained and blunted still calling

Bodies all lay awkwardly beside guts
severed and exposed lifeless cold cuts
reddening the river creek once clear
flowing simultaneously to tears

deafening pleads they still hear
drifting downward from the eye


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