The year of indigenous people, nineteen ninety-three, <br />Still we are struggling to be free. <br />Government money for our reservations getting lost in the political confusion, <br />Telling us we're receiving it through their mixed-up delusions. <br />Justice has not yet been served for 500 years. <br />Our ancestors have been hurt for too long, we can't just wipe away the tears. <br />The next generation relatives are more in tune to the truth, <br />About society's lies of death, murder and sacrificial blues. <br />Go on telling us, make-up more lies. <br />We will continue praying through our painful cries. <br /> <br />1993<br /><br />Jason Summers<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/1993-2/
