Hills and Valleys To Die On
by Michael Doyle

Stretching my SUV across the Greater Ohio Valley
I see what my travels bring closer to me
Here in what were once considered idle spaces
Are the dreams that leave me etching their traces

The displacement is felt as the strangers encroach
The wilderness disappears at the uncivil approach
French hymns echo away the fragility of harmony
As tension dominates and clarifies history's complexity

These are the hills and valleys to die on
All those ghosts of the past already gone
Screaming out like an Iroquois war cry
We push the borders without questioning why

These are the valleys and hills to die on
My angelic muse sits near, but the past is gone
Silver tongues turned to bullets, leaving debts unpaid
Her mystic dance is written on the shadows played

Peace was fleeting in its uncherished fragility
As time travels, in reflection, it loses its harmony
Conflicts loomed in the tensions of this wilderness
Wilderness offers promises and its betrayed kiss

Reading the wampum of each discarded treaty
This land mediated the battles that became history
Borders have given way to tire tracks discarded
Tattoos of  misbehavior have become well-regarded

These are the hills and valleys to die on
All those ghosts of the past already gone
Screaming out like an Iroquois war cry
We push the borders without questioning why

These are the valleys and hills to die on
My angelic muse sits near, but the past is gone
Silver tongues turned to bullets, leaving debts unpaid
Her mystic dances are written on the shadows played

The valley we travel through is witness to every ceded change
As treaties, villages, and boundaries came to rearrange
Expanding and retracting paired with a glass of resilience
The nation has become known for its sense of brilliance

The middle ground sets the stage for its control
Each people becomes part of the valley's cherished soul
Its contested space has become a confluence of culture
Blending like rivers merging, unified but its nurture

These are the hills and valleys to die on
All those ghosts of the past already gone
Screaming out like an Iroquois war cry
We push the borders without questioning why

These are the valleys and hills to die on
My angelic muse sits near, but the past is gone
Silver tongues turned to bullets, leaving debts unpaid
Her mystic dances are written on the shadows played

(c) March 27, 2025  Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved