You were just a man.
But now you’re an icon.
I hold your picture on a bookmark.
But your spirit lives on.
I feel it as I gaze at the sepia-tinged photo.
I see it in your eyes gleaming out at me from this image frozen in time.
The evils heaped upon you were not your fault.
You didn’t know that you were wrong.
You didn’t know that the white man’s power was so strong.
And yet the injustices that you endured
Make your spirit strong.
As you peer out in silent reproach
Every conscience is pricked.
And your memory lies
Like a stain of blood
On the frozen snow of Wounded Knee.