Author: glimpses from an ivory tower PM
This is the New World holocaust we don't like to talk about, what conquerors, seeking gold and glory, carried across the Atlantic. The Nina brought disorganization. The Pinta, disease. And the Santa Maria, death to the native people. Our inheritance.Rated: Fiction T - English - Tragedy - Words: 175 - Reviews: 3 - Published: 12-31-07 - Status: Complete - id: 2457008
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Your aim attains chosen passage to the New World,
so congratulations, Columbus, for your vessels' soul-less speed.
Melt down the Spanish crowns and you'll be left with bartered bones.
Asked to convert musky squaws to Leviticus
and embroidery, Cortes spreads diseased blankets, but
your saintly credence still sells because you carry Christ in your heart
and taxes from the cellars of Europe.
Primitive miners fall in sour-sweat moods, chanting mutiny
and you blame them for rank hours spent charting
uncivilized waters you had no right to invade.
Opportunity loves labor traded freely for smallpox,
native warriors crippled as a refined sacrifice to the gods of wealth.
But a deathly pallor lingers on their stolen inheritance,
while ailing Aztec cities sing of the conquerors' inconvenient delusion.
Come clean now, you know the land is dry
of gold steps to a favored place in your ruler's heart.
Your ecstatic gloats gone down with the rivers of blood
where velvet heads sank to become harmless marbles
in your fevered game of greed.