A View Of Heaven
Long blue-black, straight hair.
The color of a raven so rare.
Cheek bones chiseled with grace.
A tan Native American face.
Hair, braided with a ritual feather.
Clothed in a loin cloth made of leather.
Tribal war paint decorated his cheeks,
Seeing a Native God made my knees weak.
They honor and worship our Earth,
Paying tribute to all that is birthed.
Never taking, without giving something back.
This is what most cultures, but them seem to lack.
If I ever had the chance to pick a perfect mate,
A Native American Indian would be my fate.
I would treasure him forever, body and soul.
With his perfect face and eyes the color of coal.
The color of a raven so rare.
Cheek bones chiseled with grace.
A tan Native American face.
Hair, braided with a ritual feather.
Clothed in a loin cloth made of leather.
Tribal war paint decorated his cheeks,
Seeing a Native God made my knees weak.
They honor and worship our Earth,
Paying tribute to all that is birthed.
Never taking, without giving something back.
This is what most cultures, but them seem to lack.
If I ever had the chance to pick a perfect mate,
A Native American Indian would be my fate.
I would treasure him forever, body and soul.
With his perfect face and eyes the color of coal.
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