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The Vision
The old man rose at the break of dawn to greet the morning sun.
To bath in the river and say his prayers, but before his prayers were done . . .
In the heat of the summer, a cold wind blew, and the sun turned a bloody red.
He smelled the stinch of the battle field, men, women, and children dead.
Across the sky came fearsome beasts, and astride their backs were men.
At least, he thought they were men, but this couldn't be, and he looked at these
riders again.
Their skins were
pale, and their eyes were cold, and they killed with abandon and mirth.
In front lay the dead and the dying, and behind they laid waste to the Earth.
From the old man's eyes tears started to flow. It was more than, it seemed, he
could bare.
The Earth was
dying and the Sun was on fire, and these men, he knew, didn't care.
What shall we do when this time comes, and the fruits of the Earth we can't
share?
We can't live from the breast of our Mother, drink her water, or breath her air?
But he knew that the day would certainly come, when these men would regret what
they'd done.
And the young ones
of new generations would return to the truth one by one. . .
My people, beware that you do not forget all the things that your Grandfathers
taught.
In your wisdom lies hope for the future, and the Earth which so bravely we
fought.
These pale skinned men, their eyes softened by tears for the Earth they know
they have lost,
Will come to you
for the knowledge you've gained, by tears and travail, at great cost.
My people, I pray, do not turn them away. Creator has softened their eyes!
Help them learn to live as real Human Beings, in tune with the Earth and Skies!
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