Oceola

In eighteen hundred thirty eight
a painter, passing by
before it was too late,
used skill and artists eye

to gauge a noble warrior’s heart
to excavate his soul
to make a warrior torn apart,
appear, forever, whole.

The eyes of golden amber brown,
the face of mirrored dread,
a feathered plume, a crimson crown,
a race so nearly dead.

The “trail of tears” this warrior chief
could not, by choice, abide,
his Seminoles met sad defeat
bereft of hope and pride.

The warrior garb belied his pain
for life and hope were done,
he wouldn't live to fight again
as death had nearly won.

When Catlin ceased, his eye fulfilled,
his painting graced a hall
to show the world a warrior, killed,
could live to haunt us all.

A link to the George Catlin Portrait of Osceola and his story.