(this is the 6th version of this poem. trying to get it right)
dear god forgive my sins and take me
straight to heaven where my wife and parents
wait for me god please do not let me suffer
his head is covered
but he can hear the throng of
friends and relatives gathered on
the banks of the greenbrier river waiting
for the shawnee chief to set him aflame.
heathens! savages! let him go
but no rifles are fired
only voices are raised
clad in skins and paint
the shawnee are
dressed for this ritual
carrying spears and
torches they whoop with
the thrill of justice
about to be served hot
we will get them, father
the last words samuel hears in english
before the smoke
as his head falls to his chest
a young rider yanks the cover from
white eyes! watch our sacred dance!
packwood’s clan are inflamed
long live samuel packwood!
Storyteller’s Rulebook: Maintain Identification, Even in Third-Person - When you’re writing prose from a first person POV, it’s easy to maintain identification: Your hero can only see what he can see, only hear what he can hea...
17 hours ago