Let’s go;
there’s nothing more
left for us here.
The temples have been sacked,
the fields razed.
The libraries still burn,
and aristocrats run scared.
There is no more work for us here.
We seek the road.
Civilizations come and go,
but we retain the ancestors
in our blood.
Our hearts yearn for the stars
to guide us to our place,
where the soil,
and the trees,
and the water
whisper to our souls.
Forever we may roam.
Persecuted,
so we destroy the foe.
Let them have their walls,
their rulers,
and their gods,
but if they tempt us,
we will wipe them from the Earth.
Rejoice in death and birth,
the song of the raven
to his mate,
the bugle of the elk,
the thunder call.
Onward we shall go,
to twist the fabric of this life
into something
that resembles home.
There is no love for war,
no man finds his peace of spirit there,
amongst the smoke and fire,
blood and ash.
We seek our mountain home,
clear water and clear sky,
only to exist
and be left alone.
One day my soul will sing,
and my people will find rest.
The journey done at last,
a place to lay our heads.
To teach and raise their children,
sow the land,
and tend their flocks.
A life between the sky,
upon the rock.
HG – 2021
