Great, great grandfather, old bones now
but still you live here, the why the how,
Stories of how your life once was
family whispers dreams and that because.
What you did still vibrates down through time.
How true it is how acuate, time now
can only tell, time forgets time somehow,
will heal, change the weave and leave
us renewed in this future to believe.
but still our lives vibrate your crime.
Saying sorry, doesn't give the innocent back,
victims of destruction, a paradise now lack
of all comprehension, we hang our heads,
the shame and guilt of white man deeds.
"Blanada- man*" ways, now make us weep.
reconciliations, renewing hearts, and pacts,
move on don't dwell, beneath that empire's acts
and I will bury my guilt with thee, ancestor
under the tree of life and loves benefactor
and your selfish acts will there sleep.
So now we will no longer weep,
but be forgiven of your crimes
against the innocent, those who walk
tall once, their shadows I see
those who now stir my soul to talk
with every word I write,
a different world we
well build, and uplift those once
who were lost, and forgotten.
all that you flung away, as less than you.
now will be listened too.
These words I say to you my ancestor,
that white British Man who came to claim
this land that only the Mother owned.
Yes I will bury this guilt with thee,
under that special tree,
and be once again find the strength
to renew what you destroyed,
in your ignorance, and arrogance.
