The missing and murdered indigenous women all gathered together at the lost city of Atlantis.
“No one believes we are real,” said one to the other, “they will never try to find us here.”
“If they never believe then we are free. If they start to remember is when we have to worry.” Said another.
“Yes the great spirit has made an ocean of oblivion and in all their crossings they forget..
They think their cities are real and ours is a myth.”
“Yes.” spoke the chief.
“We are safe here.”
They are distracted by the stars. The stars that died centuries ago.
The apocalypse has happened already. They just don’t know it yet.
They are all dancing together in a Matrix of dreams.
They wake up with new scars and wonder how those wounds ever healed.
“Sometimes they forget to hurt when we touch them,” spoke the child of agile deer, “and they mistake this pain for pleasure.”
The turtle will rise once more. When the time is right.
“The time is close,” spoke the hungry hawk girl. I see rust over the towers of progress, it stains their rivers and kills their fish. The white men in their polished houses laugh louder now. They laugh with terrorist eyes. And all the world is quiet in disbelief.
We are safe for now, but it won’t last. This time when they come dressed as brothers we will know the truth in that horse’s eyes.
We won’t drink the fire.
We won’t accept their dirty blankets.
We know how to keep warm. We are the keepers of the fire. We must never forget who we are, even if they have. They have all fallen asleep. When the sun rises it will be too late.
“It has already come to be,” spoke the ominous owl. It has already been written. They will burn the treaties. There is no honour in sickly pacts. They are a lost tribe.
“We have already been found what is there to search for now?” The sad squaw pleaded.
We must find ourselves here. We must honour our mother and father and give our respects to our grandfathers. One day all our relations will come together and they will lose their blindness.
Only when they have regained this vision can we be one again.
“One tribe under one sky” spoke the eager eagle.
So it is has been spoken.
They passed the peace pipe from hand to hand as they gathered around the roaring fire and danced.
You could hear the echo of their drums in the lost world where the rhythm of life was mute, their voices carried in the cries of the wild.
The forgotten ones were there and they remembered. Some of them had wolf eyes that lit a path through the dark.
You could never go hungry if you followed them.
But the eyes of the others were a deep abyss surrounding an ancient island, where they held a sacred vigil in honour of our fallen sisters