Cherokee Whispers (POEM)
Fog nestles deep in the curves of the skyline.
Billowing upward in silent repose.
It looks like puffs of smoke from a cigarette.
It’s nature enchanting, almost mystical,
Calling to my soul.
I watch this morning before the sun rises.
The sun still tucked away in her slumber.
This dynamic, I witness, inspired.
The birds and I, awake.
I hear the doves of these mountains crying,
Deep in melodic song.
Haunting, like a calling to the great spirits.
This effect I am witnessing named these mountains.
Named by the great Cherokee Nation.
Shahconage, meaning the place of the blue smoke.
Blue mist always hovering
Around the peaks and the valleys where the doves cry.
Cherokee whispers blessing this mountain range.
Blue smoke, mystical, indigenous,
Though the Cherokee Nation is now gone,
Erased by the arrogance of the white man,
Your footsteps, through the dove’s cry
And the sacred smoke,
Indelibly marks these mountains with your soul.
~ L Davis, #thepoetfarmer