All land is stolen land.
The dead no longer can claim it.
Their flesh became part of this violent earth long ago.
It is not to the dead we look 
But who is here now.
How can they not have. A Right to be?
They are here. Where else would they be?
We are all guests in a house that is not our own.
We live on buried bones.
Seeds get scattered where they may.
It is not the fault of a cursed ancestry.
Luck’s draw is blind.
The cards are dealt.
And you play what you are given for a time.
You cannot cheat this game.
But you can be humble just the same.
And acknowledge the angry ghosts.
That are still trying to be good hosts.