"There is a high place in the heart of our planet

overlooking a large freshwater lake like a sea

in those hills, there is ore, and ore is demanded

for building, for warships, for technology

This place is not very high when compared to

our mountains, our buildings in the jeweled cities

but when you must walk every day up and down it

it is very high, so high, so impossibly

cold in the winter, mud in the spring,

hot in the summer, cold again too quickly

the only thing walking that holds you together

is that blue, blue expanse stretching far like the sea.

Every day, we must wake and eat crusts for black breakfast

then we trudge from the camp to the base of the hill

carrying with us great boxes and picks for extracting

ore from the rock and rock from the hill

another troop carries heavy shovels and axes

it is their job to scout out new sites

for mining more ore, then they must cut down the

sor and the brush and build a path to the height.

Every day, we walk up the serpentine path

which slithers through the hill with empty box on our backs

we fill the box up with rocks and then head down

single file once again on that serpentine track

we must walk down slowly for the boxes they bend us

over with their weight and footing can't be slack

lest we fall, bodies tumble, rocks spilt like water

and miss our quota for that day in the rack

we are forced to walk quickly back up the serpent

the pIn'a' beating the sweat off our backs

we are forced to do this over and over

no matter the season, our hunger or wrack-

ing cough that takes our whole bodies aback.

You may wonder why a great civilization like tlhIngan

uses manual labor instead of ship-kind

for this is how we used to mine mountains

and build cities and bridges, instead of heave high

but the answer is simple, two reasons deny.

The first is: people are cheaper

than ships, ship building, all technology

The second: only warriors may outfit

a vessel which flies, only warriors may leave.

I have seen too many die on the hillside

hands trembling, arms straining, legs weak in the knee

their eyes hollowed out by the unending labor

of walking up, going down, ore crushing their being

I have hauled rocks down the hill

when ice froze on my eyelids

when my skin was red oozing with bites from the fleas

I have walked up thirsting desperately for water

mind numb, not feeling any sense or degree

I have walked with my brothers who loudly were singing

of longing for home, for a place to be free

I have walked with indifference up this small mountain

indifferent to living, indifferent to be

But there were rare moments, in all my walking

when I looked up from my feet bent with ore

I saw the wide lake and the sun on it glitt'ring

I saw the sky and the beauty once more

such a desolate place, so quiet and lonely

but old, so much older than my suffering

the waters so still and serene and so lovely

reminding me that after death she would be

there, standing witness with her deep and cold water

not a promise, but something that you must know to see

how my heart took solace in seeing that water

still, quiet, calm, and serene.

I am alive today. Do I call this living?

I do not know what living might mean.

I only know the face of the water

keeping my heart deep under her streams.

I only know the song of the mountain

longing for her to weep for their dreams."