Read Poem: Warpath, by tjbarkwill

I told the Indians I wanted peace,
But they wouldn’t go for it.
Big chief Rising Sun said they were
On the warpath,
I said it was too hot and
I didn’t want to fight anymore,
But Charlie was pig-headed.
“We fight to the death!”
And so we went back
to the trees that were
brush and the dry grass
that smelled of burned lush green
and was our sand because
we were out west
at the edge of the frontier
and it was war,
even though I was bored of it
and we were all getting hungry.
Charlie wouldn’t admit it,
But he was hungry too.
Besides, he didn’t even
Paint his face.
What kind of a chief was that?


Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film.

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