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The Wild One
Out comes the storm
In a galloping parade
Of silver and iron
Honour masking the greed of men
In the rattling and dim wilderness
The rituals and the songs
Are ready to be extinguished
By those who rule over gods
And then a fatal sob
Pierces through the still ether
And the keepsakes of ages
Are washed away in a river the colour of blood
- A paradise is lost
And she dashed out of that darkness
Leaving behind her potions
And the archeology of knowledge
Clotted with blood of the wise and the heathen
Sacrificed onto an unfaithful god
On top of a sun-brimming temple
But the men came for her
As they always do
Filled with lust and rage
Gnawing, ripping, mutilating
That dark sacred flesh
Discarded on the wet ground
And she strode deeper and deeper
The wild one of her tribe
With only traces of echoes
Of the only voices she had known
But there are no voices here
They remain only as effigies
On dirty marble of the victors
- Silencio.
Copyright ©
Alice Cortazar
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