A Canadian Winter

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
The Horrors of St. Anne's
By Jorge Barrera
C.B.C. News
March 29, 2018

"Then there was the disappearance of three boys: John Kioki, 14, and Michel Matinas, 11, both from Attawapiskat, and Michael Sutherland, 13, from Weemisk. The trio left St. Anne’s with a fourth boy in the early morning hours of April 19, 1941, but he returned to the school because he was told by the others he was too young to make the journey to Attawapiskat".

The following piece was written for them.

To read more about the abuse of St. Anne's Residential School follow the link; https://newsinteractives.cbc.ca/longform/st-anne-residential-school-opp-documents

Submitted: November 09, 2019

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 09, 2019



In my dreams of youth we were warriors,
How warm the heart was back then,
Along the banks of the Albany River,
Together we fought the unknown rival!
Our freedom won out of despair.

Now I grow as cold as the winter’s solstice,
Lost in the night as the full moon rises,
Glistening crystals shine in darkness,
Trapped in snow they’re the voices of the past,
One thousand souls caught in time,
One thousand souls beautifully collected on a cold Canadian winter.

The winds of winter dusts the ground,
Barren wastelands of the north,
Brings true the essence of mankind,
That we were truly alone upon the vastness we call home,
My single step deepens in the dark,
Within the night of the moon those voices are revealed,
The chilling wind has swept away the dead,
And what remains cannot be denied,
What was witnessed - etched in time.

Pine, cedar abd spruce are markers,
Asleep now they rest until spring,
They’ll never see the eyes of the past,
They’ll never hear the screams in the night.
In the darkness of a Canadian winter,

The only thing left are the voices of our past,
Along with my marker left deep within the snow,
There’s nothing left here for us,
They took it all away.
In the years that followed my death I arrive,
Glistening crystal within the snow,
Each year I return,
Beautifully collected on a cold Canadian winter.

The chilling wind of winter sweeps away the dead,


© Copyright 2020 Rhymis. All rights reserved.

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