Crushed beneath asphalt runways,
moccasin prints lie buried --
pointing the way to villages
long forgotten.
The Forgotten Ones
Lost arrowheads rest beside
polluted waterways,
overlooked by all
but the sharpest eye.
The dust of the old ones' bones
drifts on the wind,
whispers through the trees,
their songs no longer heard
amid the deafening desecration.
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