On the Death of Shamans
I see the end,
our missions done.
A few thousand years
is all that it took
to end the shaman's threat.
First, we made the written word
the key to all we seek.
The magic oaks were cut,
the chants were stopped,
and wise men and women
were driven from the land.
The word was made flesh
and sailed the seas and
the "Requimiento" crushed
brujos, curing wives and
ancient story tellers by the fire.
And the word was made
endless sound in everyone's head.
Somewhere, the last curandero
walks alone in a small and dusty town,
and somewhere in the world
the last dream teller sits on a rock
with no children at her feet
and in a neon city a Mistress of Spice
gives up her powers.
Soon the silence that breeds magic
will be lost in a white noise world.
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