Author and Poet
A short story on love and loss… I did not remember regaining consciousness. In fact, I didn’t know if I was conscious. It was hard to know anything at that point. The noise was still there, almost deafening. I tried to move. I couldn’t move. …
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Whispers thunder still, Sand Creek winds whip true.
The horses gallop, as a sad refrain.
Maheo’s tears cried out a blood-soaked rain.
In peace, the U.S. flag and white flag flew.
This meant nothing to the devils in blue.
For Black Kettle, peace brought a heavy pain.
Whispers thunder still,
Children heard crying, in the morning dew.
Oh, senseless massacre of such disdain.
How does humanity escape the brain?
Though the wailing and bloodshed are long through,
Whispers thunder still.