Ancestral Voices
This living tradition,
Contains no mystery,
No secrets, nothing hidden,
All is as it is.
As we dance in morning mist,
Songs of our ancestors weave,
Our sacred unfolding path,
Breath of life, living gods.
For our poor limited minds,
Dreams challenge and remind us,
To tread with care,
To live with respect.
Our poor, poor minds,
Lost in a sorcerer’s spell,
Desire, desire, desire,
A mantra of death and slavery.
Sing, sing your way back home,
Chant your ancestral songs,
Leave the spell of this labyrinth,
All is sacred, your path,
Tribal life, all life.
Remember, remember, wake up!
© David R. Durham, All Rights Reserved.
Poet & Photographer 