By Andrew Scott


Sometimes I wish
I could go back
to the innocent times
of my younger years.

Run those woods
with screaming friends,
exploring until
the sun went down.

Growing up can be
confusing and complicated.
Emotions and worries
that are not understood.

Sometimes I wish
that I did not know
the thing that I do
with the experience of age.

The open eyes of wonder
are the days I yearn
when the world seems
like it is closing in.

Do wish I could
go back there sometimes
then I think
would that time in my life
even know me now?

The Lost Children

The drums are beating
with sadness, sorrow now.
Crying with the stolen souls
of the innocent, lost children.

Buried so long ago,
never returned home
from the abuse
provided from captive walls.

Healing circles chanting
for the children’s spirit.
Mourning the loss,
the children who were
never given a chance.

Beautiful children
taken from their elders,
tortured and abused
to forget who they were
until they were murdered,
placed in a grave, forgotten
by the government and the church
who put them in the unmarked dirt.
Died being forced to assimilate.

Little spirits rise in piece
to be remembered,
given to the ancestors
to share in the healing
drumming around the fires,
tears lined over their hearts,
preying for the Lost Children.

Dear Stranger XVI

Dear Stranger, how are you today?
Have you seen the embers
remaining of the building
you took a torch too?
The anger is understandable.
Everyone is enraged
over the discovery of the burial
of our Indigenous children
however, burning buildings
does not take away any pain
even if they are symbols
of the dark past.
People could be inside those dwellings.
More death does not solve pain.
Most of us will never feel
the emotions you are feeling.
Please share and educate us,
let us know and learn.
As long as no one talks
and the violent burning continue
the history will be a stranger to us all.

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