when i was a boy
filled with grand plans
of great adventures
before the understanding
of how the lessons taught
were tinted by the victors
how the conquerors
were not heroes

i wanted to discover new lands with that childlike
misunderstanding
that already inhabited lands
weren’t new
just unknown nations
across
the serpent infested seas

now i am old
broken by the weight of
wonder being absent
from the world
left knowing that she is there unable to convince that
distance was just an illusion
if our hearts were one

the land has been explored
the stars and sea
are all that is left
love is a tropical delusion
and i find myself
beset with malaria
contracted as my soul
was returned to sender

i wish i still believed
pizzaro was a hero
that cortez was not a savage
that it was adventure not greed
that spurred them on
that there was a place
unfound by humanity
left to explore

the seven cities of gold
were myth
the fountain of youth
a stagnant pool
the heroes are always
someone else’s villain
instead of fame
we all get holes six feet down