LOST
I sit alone looking at an album of pictures.
A home that is no longer my own.
I cry in my soul, as it has no place to be.
I am a product of my ancient roots.
I am from a proud, but nearly gone people.
I am lost to myself forever more.
I was born of royal heritage.
I was born of a people of gentleness.
I was born of a land of love and righteousness.
I come from the depths of an ancient knowledge.
A knowledge that is presently lost to me.
A knowing that is hidden deep within my soul.
I cry that my own people forsake me.
I cry that my own family does not recognize me.
I hurt knowing my people do not accept me.
I come from a land of a lost race.
I look for my ancient roots.
I wonder why I can't go home.
The outsiders have moved onto our land.
They have taken what was once ours.
Our land is given away by powers that be.
We now fight to regain part of what is gone.
We ask that we be dealt with fairly.
We plead to return to our country.
Our Queen was imprisoned in her own home.
Her people were threatened with death.
Our land is no longer our own.
How do we return to what no longer is?
Why do the officials make empty promises?
How do they justify taking more away?
My family does not recognize me anymore.
I am one of many lost souls.
I may never see my home again.
My soul shrivels from lack of sustenance.
My heart breaks from being alone.
I am lost to my ancient lines forever more.
How long before we all just blow away?
) July 23, 1998 J. Pualani McBee
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