Email Poem

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Poem

You would not have dared look into my face
When it wore flesh and scowled
Upon the world your people forced on me, 
You sons of Mammon,
You children of Ivied Privilege.

I was Terror to the Mexican,
The name their tongue gave me
Became a word for courage in your own -
Yet you pampered ones,
Who would never see
The troglodyte face of battle,
Sending others in your place for that -
Would dare to steal my very bones
To serve your ceremonies to wealth and ease.

My skull and bones may be 
In your weak, profane hands, 
But they have never served your ends.
Even in death I yawn
At what you consider power,
At the piles of shifting sands
You move about to raise your little thrones.

I lived and laughed where you would have died;
The Earth my throne
The Sky my crown.
My remains are not for the likes of you,
Not pieces for your foolish games.

Gothalay bids you send his bones home where they belong

Shame yourselves no more!

     Little boys,
     Playing with fire,
     Begging to be burned!

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