FOOL’S GOLD

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  • Epic

    FOOL’S GOLD

    Easter Saturday, an armada arrived on Mesoamerican shores
    Pretending to be ambassadors, crusaders called it, “Conquest of the Conquistadors”
    Motecuzomas’ messenger reports back; winded, perspiring out his pours
    Depicting the emergence of evil-doers: Enemies (of the Aztecs) east of Ecuador
    Illustrations of iron swords, iron hordes, iron crossbows, iron board
    (signatures shields of missionary scorpion sects) Muskets, & cannons.
    Fled the flood gates of famine: Smelled of kipper snappers, squid, oysters, & salmon
    No one gave a damn when …
    These Juggling Jungle bunnies brought in exotic fruits almost every hour
    All while autumn showers supplied a spectacle of never seen before flowers
    They reexamine the towers, temples, and the markets …
    Spoke loud to the crowd- while reconnoiters the city,
    Diaz, De Leon, & Sandoval was amongst the committee- All slimey & shitty
    This particular god was grimy & gritty who yearned for more of gold’s riches
    Admitting this metal was the only cure for the covetous crucifix princesses
    Along side of his Mexican mistresses!! WHO witnesses, say they
    Closed off all entrances & passageways from the Canstalk crypt to the Eagle Gate, plundered pyramids and palaces confiscated gold and silver plates
    Before they knew what happened…
    Cortez commenced the gun clappen
    Deadinated disciples, nuns, elders, daughters & sons.
    Simultaneously soldiers started snappin,
    henceforth the blood bath has begun. Sharp staffs were no match for Spanish guns;
    With no place to run the rebels wrath got ransacked-
    especially for those who tried to retaliate
    Decapitated the celebrant’s dancers, drummers, lieutenants & captains-
    even went after their better halves;
    Severed shoulders, arms, & thighs, they even chopped at calves
    Beheaded those who pretended to be dead
    Red… Red… Red
    Some said they were lead into the jaws of hell Red…Red…Red
    Intestines dangled & dragged tripping over their own entrails
    Slithering along the patio with the speed of a snail
    Ambushed the frail citizens in the middle of their fiesta-
    Some say their spirits subdued their subconscious in a satanic siesta
    Ripped a hole through your retnea ….

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    cynthiakehl commented on FOOL’S GOLD

    06-10-2009

    very good! and very true,....no beauty in this truth, but a beautiful piece of writing...thanks for sharing with us!

    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

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