of the bone which came to a man
from a lynx that captured a goose
to find it was of great power
but denounced all the things he knew
that had laced a life alone
into whatever it was that came
and for every time he tied
his foolishness deep in shame
my elders told me of these things
the history that they knew
to pave them into forever
across the teachings they've imbued
and how I've not forgotten,
as a young boy I've listened so
to these tales that they had told me
so my own embrace their echo
from a lynx that captured a goose
to find it was of great power
but denounced all the things he knew
that had laced a life alone
into whatever it was that came
and for every time he tied
his foolishness deep in shame
my elders told me of these things
the history that they knew
to pave them into forever
across the teachings they've imbued
and how I've not forgotten,
as a young boy I've listened so
to these tales that they had told me
so my own embrace their echo
______________________________________________________________________________
"One spring, near Lake Winnipeg, a single snow goose appeared high in the air. It glided down on a smaller lake and swam to shore. Nearby and quietly, a lynx crouched as the wind shifted on the goose's scent into his nose. For a brief moment, the goose lifted his head, listening. But before it could rise again safely, the lynx had it in his teeth. The lynx feasted down to bones and feathers. Then, just as he began to crack a bone for marrow, a man called out and the lynx was quick into the trees. Only artifacts of the goose remained, but among them, the man found a bone said to protect the heart--a "wishing bone." He examined it slowly. Later, he found that the bone was a tool of metamorphosis, which allowed him to become a "trickster" capable of wishing things into existence, and himself into various situations." -- A Swampy Cree tale as told by Jacob Nibenegenesabe and Samuel Makidemewabe.
while this bares
in a tone of blue-gray it
lingers of nothing more than
silence
it's emotionless and
embraces me within the absence of my muse
a secluded whim of
dispassion slays my artistic
alchemy
oh
i mourn
between each despairing breath
and readily surrender my heart
for the price
of ullage
drowning, drowning...
i curse the heaven's for such an unfathomable
curiosity!
where are the days that have
never dreamed of quarreling with my soul--
when life bequeathed to me a beauty
of such imaginings?
how i cry out
to part with my seducing gift but,
through chicanery, my voice perfectly fails.
i am
utterly
dead.
in a tone of blue-gray it
lingers of nothing more than
silence
it's emotionless and
embraces me within the absence of my muse
a secluded whim of
dispassion slays my artistic
alchemy
oh
i mourn
between each despairing breath
and readily surrender my heart
for the price
of ullage
drowning, drowning...
i curse the heaven's for such an unfathomable
curiosity!
where are the days that have
never dreamed of quarreling with my soul--
when life bequeathed to me a beauty
of such imaginings?
how i cry out
to part with my seducing gift but,
through chicanery, my voice perfectly fails.
i am
utterly
dead.
i am unsure,
unsure...
of where i am going
you... you're lucky
to have found someone
but sometimes the rivers
my tears have formed
in the abyss
where i have undone
your beautiful smile
oh, your bright lovely face
that once gave me the hope
that it would never fade
but somewhere my luck
had turned into ashes
and one day my luck
will grant a better day
so when you crawl your soul
to lie gently in bed
don't think about me
and all that i did
(all that i did)
'cause i tore the four leafs
off of your lucky clover
and i'm afraid of the truth
so i'll never be sober
again, when i think
without ever
knowing
that sometimes...
(oh, sometimes)
i am unsure
of where
i am
going
unsure...
of where i am going
you... you're lucky
to have found someone
but sometimes the rivers
my tears have formed
in the abyss
where i have undone
your beautiful smile
oh, your bright lovely face
that once gave me the hope
that it would never fade
but somewhere my luck
had turned into ashes
and one day my luck
will grant a better day
so when you crawl your soul
to lie gently in bed
don't think about me
and all that i did
(all that i did)
'cause i tore the four leafs
off of your lucky clover
and i'm afraid of the truth
so i'll never be sober
again, when i think
without ever
knowing
that sometimes...
(oh, sometimes)
i am unsure
of where
i am
going
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