The Flame of Life
Sitting in a circle around the flame of life,
White silhouettes spot the skies above,
Watching the sparks fly up on warm sultry airs.
As the air fills with the power of song,
And the natives dance around the flame,
Drums beat a tune that stirs the soul from within.
Tears flow down your cheeks like sparkling diamonds
dancing down the side of the hills from behind.
Your heart beats with the emotions
That stir in the Evenings somber mood.
You see in the Night skies,
The Buffalo and the Hawk;
the Sparrow and the Deer.
The oneness felt as the flute cries out,
within the Soul and the Spirit of the lost ones.
The Daughter whispers the soft gentle melody of the spheres,
The Mother cries for the days long ago.
While the Father weeps for what is yet to be.
And yet, remembers what has gone before.
The song becomes more somber now,
The Tears flow freely of a native Son long ago lost.
The Spirit of the Warrior son lives on within
The Flame of Life for all to see.
The Beginning Song - A Native Prayer of Hope.
As the wolves howls break the silence o f the night,
The pounding of the drums can be heard throughout the distant canyons.
The cries of the elder as he sings his soulful song,
sends a haunting chill of memories passed, into the depths of my soul.
The tearful flute beys into the evenings starfilled sky.
Tears begin to ripple down everyones face as the soul stirs to
a melody and pounding forces created from the Earths beating heart.
The words come out of the elders mouth as if they were from a
hundred battle cries, of counting coupes and naked nights alone.
Cold and hungry waiting for the early dawn.
You could hear within the cries of the song,
the wailing of the mothers and wives,
Sissters and daughters, for the passing away of their men.
Warriors who shall never return home to their loved ones.
The song has been sung for many centuries,
Their cries have filled our souls,
Their tears shall forever flow on the wings of Eagles.
Into the arms of the Great Spirit.
The song has only just begun.
David A. Yaeger
The Plight of the Unicorn
By: David A. Yaeger
Friday November 6, 1987
The Unicorn’s missed Noah’s Ark so I’m told,
They played and they frolicked and thought they were bold.
Their powers were magical their lives were carefree,
Their happiness was here they didn’t want to flee.
So, as it was told, the rains they did come,
The Unicorn’s played they did not run.
Their mystical powers had set them on fire,
They danced to the tunes that came from a lyre.
Their horns all a glow to light up the night,
They lived without fear of their upcoming plight.
The rains had continued to fall from the skies,
I can’t help but wonder if they’re tears from God’s eyes.
From the horn of the Unicorn colors did flow,
Together with gladness they created a rainbow.
To show the sadness of his loss to this day,
God has created the rainbow to show us the way.
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|What Kind of Empath Are You? |
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|You scored as Shaman|
You are a Shamanic Empath. You are at one with nature and can speak with animal/plant life. Your powers come from the Sun & the Moon, and the elements. The weather moves with your mind and all of nature is at your beck and call. (from The Book of Storms by Jad Alexander at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Empaths/)