Welcome to Melvin’s Epic Poems
This is not really an epic poem, but I put it here anyway.
©Grace at Little Bighorn
Paralyzed by fear
He just lay there
amongst the dead and dying.
When his horse went down
He just froze on the ground
But they were going to stay
And take war souvenirs
And do things that can’t be mentioned.
“Lord Jesus, please help me,” was his prayer,
As he asked God to get him out of there.
“And I don’t mean in pieces,”
He prayed the Lord Jesus,
“Please get me out of here alive.”
Then something rose up inside
Like a bright light that beamed from his eyes.
And with his knife in his hand
He pushed up from the
And ran for the closest horse and rider.
Watched him, amazed
As he moved with the swiftness of
Something that seemed to be there, but wasn’t.
What he did to the brave was quite unpleasant
But the spirit was leaving
As the body was heaving
And there was no pain as it hit the ground.
Soon he was being chased
And he just rode like a blind and crazy man.
Arrows and spears could not connect
As an invisible shield seemed to protect him
Like maybe God had answered his prayer.
But they soon gave up on him
And they brought the horse down and then
They surrounded him there on the ground.
With their arrows drawn back
They paused with respect
And some fear as they looked into his eyes.
They were wild and crazy, to say the least.
Like nothing seen in man nor beast.
And they didn’t know whether to kill him or run away.
He was lost in the moment, waiting to die
Remembering General Custer raising his hand high.
Saying, “We’re going to ride…”
Into the valley of the shadow
As it turned out.
An hour later everyone was dead
And now he waited his turn.
But again something entered
That was familiar and warm
And he looked into the eyes of death.
And as they let the arrows fly
Something glowed behind his eyes
And he let out a primal scream
From somewhere in eternity.
And it echoed through every canyon
And over every mountain
For a hundred miles.
Then all was dark and cool.
There was a morning mist
In the valley of the Little Bighorn,
When he awoke, like from a dream.
But the stench of death was grim
As reality pulled him in
And he wondered why he was still alive.
He looked at his body, his skin like new.
Not one arrow had passed through.
They were lying there on the ground
Where they had fallen.
As they ran calling
For the Great Spirit to protect them.
It must have been a miracle
That turned his body to stone,
And left him there alone,
While the Cheyenne Nation went away
And left him to die again another day.