Indian

I think it was 1974 when I drew this, I posted it before but as I looked through my pictures I noticed it and the poem I wrote were gone so I will try it again with a new poem that I just finished.

Silhouettes cling to walls at night, their secrets they did not choose, their lips are shadows of mouths that speak from minds that never move.
They echo the sounds of lonely cries from tears still falling from yesterdays eyes, the windows peer is truthfully clear yet light never finds the room, only shadows draw near and then they appear they are visions of the past exhumed.
Silhouettes cling to the walls at night, their secrets they did not choose, wether we listen or ignore to deny or implore it is life or death that we choose....