Painting by
Davis Talmadge

Still Alive

He stands silent in the twilight
listening to the sounds of life pass by.
He hears the dying buffalo
and the eagle's plaintive cry.
He hears the weeping of the earth
being pillaged and raped by man,
who is covering it with asphalt and concrete
every place he can.
He hears the lament of the waters
that once flowed clear and free
that are now dammed and polluted
by man's garbage and debris.
His eyes are filled with tears
and his heart is filled with pain
as he thinks of the many Nations
whose voices will never be heard again.
Lost for all eternity
are their histories and traditions,
victims of the white man's
plan of extermination.
But in the midst of all his pain,
his sorrow and despair,
a ray of hope shines through the gloom
and permeates the air.
For in spite of all their efforts,
for everything they've tried,
their plan was not successful
the American Indian has not died!

written by Marty Soaring Eagle copyright Feb. 2003

Perhaps tomorrow i will see
what i don't see today,
Perhaps tomorrow i will know
what i should have known anyway,
Perhaps tomorrow i will hear,
and clearly understand,
my place, my role, my purpose in
the Creator's master plan.
Perhaps tomorrow i will clearly see
the path i am to take,
Perhaps tomorrow i will comprehend
the difference i can make
in the lives of others
as i run my race
and am faithful to the end.
Perhaps tomorrow the finish line
will finally be in sight,
Perhaps tomorrow at the end of the tunnel
i will finally see some light.
But until tomorrow
i still have today.
Tomorrow seems so far away,
and yesterday has too soon gone by,
All i have then is today
in which to live or die.
i have today
to make my plans,
and my work to do,
i have today
to make peace with myself
and to find a love
that is true.
i have today
to reach heights of joy
or sink into despair,
i have today
to show compassion
or that i don't really care.
i have today,
this fleeting moment,
for there is no guarantee
That when today becomes yesterday
another tomorrow i will see.

written by Marty Soaring Eagle copyright 2000

Through the morning mist
they ride their horses like the wind,
The echo of the thundering hooves
take them back to when
The land they ride was wild and free
As they once had been.
And now they ride at breakneck speed
trying to outrace the end.
The end to the way of life they had known
as long as they had been.

They ride across the prairie
where great herds of buffalo once roamed,
They ride through the valleys and forests
that for the wolves had once been home,
They ride across the mountain tops
where the eagles once had flown,
They ride throughout the land
that once had been their own.

On they ride through night and day
never stopping for food or sleep,
On they ride with the hope
If they keep riding they will keep
The fire of hope alive in those who remain.
So, if you listen with your heart
You'll hear above the din,
The tireless steeds that bear the eternal spirit
of the American Indian.

written by By Marty Soaring Eagle copyright 2001