The Last Stand....100 And Some Odd Years Ago.

The last stand...100 and some odd years ago. ©-MFB III

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Somewhere north of here...
on grassy plains like these
Custer made his last stand.


It was there he found new meaning
to the word savages.


He was made to understand
the Red man's rage .


His men were skillfully
surgically butchered
the whites of their eyes

rolling back to infinity.


Their final cries were not unlike
those of the great buffalo wailing

bellowing pain
in the heat of the hunt
as spears rent their sides
knives disembowled
and lead stole their hopes
as well as their lives
so sadly misled.


I am sure each warrior
chose to allow Custer
to be the last to fall.


They delighted

in his frustration,
guerillas playing

with a tired general
and he was the holy grail
the golden flax
his hair like spun sunshine
a fitting trophy worthy of a god.


The stench of gunpowder and blood
entrails and shit and freshly spilled urine,
the smells of unwashed sweat
and fear ripe and pungeunt assailed him.


Firing blindly, instinctivly
through the dust clouds
until hammers fell with empty clicks
metallic drum beats
that shriveled his scrotum .


He scrabbled desperatley

and grabbed
any weapon from those fallen beside him
to fire some more.


As visions of his life, his wife
fine wine and the sweet taste of venison
urged him on...alas
it was all so futile
the only retreat was death.


I'm sure he felt the first
of those skillfully

rendered hand tools
flint arrow tips
crafted to kill by ancient methods.


They swiftly..silently pierced
his mortal flesh
as they flooooshed...thwack!
woooooshed...thwack
winging thier way to lodge within
his arms...his legs..his chest,

turning his own heart to stone.


I do not know which warrior
counted coup upon his corpse
claiming the fame of his demise.


But I believe there could have been
a better way to share the lands
as equal partners....people
creating together a nation without shame .


I know that somewhere

north of here
on grassy plains
so much like these
todays American Indians
have been on "Wounded Knees"
ever since that fateful battle.


They never got

thier final stand
as Custer did
to die a glorious honorable death.


They were led off to barbed wire
enclosing parched lands most depleted.


Many now dwell on reservations
with Bingo parlors and casinos.


They sell small victories to the white men
while taking his most prized possessions
from gamblers on leftover land.


Some are resigned now to the facts
that their lives are worth much less to us
then even Custer's scalp could bring ,
but deep within the souls of others
true warriors wait and dream of freedom
such as their forefathers enjoyed
wishing their wrath could be deployed.

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