Indian Village

In silence he waits, resting,
the moon behind him.
The mist, floating above,
while shadows, dance,
upon the walls and within the night.

Reflections, on the water,
showing, a time that once was.
The sound of his own heartbeat,
the only sounds to invade.

He waits in silence for the
return of those souls,
that gave the village life,

Those that gave him a place,
of honor, in their world. He waits,
seeking, what will be once more.

Life for his Village, His Brothers,
No longer scattered, to the Winds,
Of Life.

MidNight Wind/Michael Cox