Mystical warrior,
Lover of chance
And a battle-field
Where nothing was ordained
‘Cept a dagger in your back.
Suede fringes
And a muscular frame.
Harbours a heart
Of molten gold
And a legacy that lives on in my soul.
Lined up with your brothers.
Long hair braided, leather strapped
Blowing with the wind
That howls and gentles to a tender hush…
A mere whisper of itself.

Red skin, brown skin,
Yellow, black or white.
Does it really matter
When the blade pierces
Yielding flesh in a taut back?
Setting your breath to
Rise to the heavens.
Apache spirit dispersed.
Seeding the clouds
To wash us with fire,
Unyielding strength and love.
Nicola G. Karesh, copyright © 2011 – All rights reserved.

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