Native America

Open-roads fill my day,

Always in front of me the great horizon,

No power lines on the side of the road.

Mountains tall and massive,

Grow larger as I get closer,

Misty tops and shaded sides.

As they disappear in the distance

a tear runs to my eye.

The motorcycle hums a song,

clicking as the gears shift.

The power of the engine circulates

through my body.

I am a drifter,

always on the move,

I never see civilization.

But I am a man of untold wisdom.

I see America as the Natives once had.

Open ways and open plains,

riding on the mountain range.

My skin is dark and my hair long,

I ride for the day the spirits come home.

My brothers are left on tiny pieces of land,

where they rot and cannot roam freely.

There are no more visions or vision quests,

The spirits have gone,

I ride for the day when the spirits come home,

I see the land as the Natives once did, Native America is where I live.