Distant Shores

A drum is beating far away on a distant shore
calling to me through the din of rapids' roar.
I see smoke signals rising above the river narrows,
and there stands my father with his quiver of arrows,
and there stands my mother with the eagles and the sparrows.
Through the clouds I see passage through an open door.

Stripped of all dignity facing the path to eternal bliss
comes I now with head held high awaiting death's cold kiss.
All trials and tribulations cast before me like a test
are only slings and arrows hurled painfully to my breast.
But soon all suffering will cease as I lay me down to rest,
and I cannot think of anything that I'm really going to miss.

A village is waiting for me on that distant shore
settled by friends I've known who have gone before.
Yonder stands my brother whom in this life I've never seen,
and he is standing with my father and mother in pastures so green
with nothing but the physical world standing here between, and
there is nothing left to hold my spirit here anymore.

An eagle soars above that land I'll call home
and once I arrive there I never more will roam.
I see mountains high and fertile valleys below
and I cannot wait until it is finally my time to go
to that place called home where I belong there I know.
I see a vision of sands of time washed by seas of foam.

But WAIT!, says I, my journey here is not done!
I've yet to see the stars tonight or tomorrow's sun.
But I see those smoke signals above the river narrows,
and I see my father standing there with his quiver of arrows,
and I see my mother standing there with the eagles and the sparrows.
So to that distant shore I now feel the urge to run.

Marc Wesley McCord
April 29, 1998

The Trail of Tears - the journey of my Cherokee Brothers and Sisters

[ Poetry of Marc W. McCord ] [ Sweet Marie, Who Touched my Soul ] [ There Is a River ] [ Words Left Unspoken ] [ Time to Fly ] [ Seeking to Be Whole ] [ Ticket to Heaven ]

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April 29, 1998.

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Last updated June 13, 2004