Whines and Spirits

In the darkness, they appear.

They torture and torment.

But light they fear.

Scattering

When crowds gather.

Why can’t we sleep soundly,

Without trouble or fear?

Inside every nook,

Around every corner,

Lingering and loitering,

There they are.

Waiting to possess.

The Navajo Ranch

Indians grab their rifles, their bows and arrows. Tomahawks in hand, they are off to war.

Painting their faces with the blood of their enemies, chanting and summoning spirits

of protection.

The children hug their brothers and fathers, clinging to them for dear life.

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