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Jonathan Pizarro Sep 2011
Words and letters are written on walls
Some as vandalization others as messages
Words and letters are written on walls

Words and sentences are written on billboards
Some serve as advertising others to arouse awareness
Words and sentences are written on billboards

Words and paragraphs are written on my brain
Some serve as inspiration others to support guidance
Words and paragraphs are written on my brain

Words are the weapons I use in a society that controls my image
Words are the only thing that can divide me from being ghetto or educated
My words are the only thing that I can vouch for like my *****
My words are the root of the intelligence that propels this sentence
Letters in my words stand close to each other eager to make a statement
If I do not show my words, my letters of cheerfulness begin to fade away

Sentences are the compound of the mind that begs to be understood
Sentences are made up of a tyranny chained down by a trendsetters mood
My sentences contain verbs, nouns, adjectives and subjects that explain a lost purpose
My sentences define the meaning of an ironical imagery that leads me to dream
Sentences paint a picture that any blind character can see
If I do not paint my sentences how will I ever show my brains art gallery

Picasso used the paint brush to express his moods and feelings on a canvas
Shakespeare and Allan Poe used ink to utter their thoughts on a sheet of paper
Somewhere in my mind the collision of words and paint occurred
Where I fused the essence of writing with the masterfulness of painting
My words and sentences have met a significant other called paint
Paint and words are my new best friend

Paint and brushes are splattered and used upon walls
Some are called vandalization while they represent artistic skills
Paint and brushes are splattered and used upon walls

Paint and words are written on subways
So the eyes of the young and old can see the traveling message
Paint and words are written on subways

Paint and words smack up at my face
So that the world sees who conveys this message
Paint and words smack up at my face

Paint gives visual to what words cannot picture
My Paint serves as a method of expressing the mind’s tears and smiles
My Paint becomes a tour guide through the loops of divine wonders
Paint is just a stepping stone to the magnificent path of beauty

A brush is just a brush depending on who holds it
A brush is like the keyboard I constantly battle with to unleash my mind
A brush can combine negativity and positivity and make peace
A brush unites celibate beliefs with those whom are perverse
Words and sentences along with paint and brushes help explain my motive

Jonathan Pizarro
Lost Cause © 2011
April 17th, 2011
498

I envy Seas, whereon He rides—
I envy Spokes of Wheels
Of Chariots, that Him convey—
I envy Crooked Hills

That gaze upon His journey—
How easy All can see
What is forbidden utterly
As Heaven—unto me!

I envy Nests of Sparrows—
That dot His distant Eaves—
The wealthy Fly, upon His Pane—
The happy—happy Leaves—

That just abroad His Window
Have Summer’s leave to play—
The Ear Rings of Pizarro
Could not obtain for me—

I envy Light—that wakes Him—
And Bells—that boldly ring
To tell Him it is Noon, abroad—
Myself—be Noon to Him—

Yet interdict—my Blossom—
And abrogate—my Bee—
Lest Noon in Everlasting Night—
Drop Gabriel—and Me—
RAJ NANDY May 2015
Declared as an UNESCO Heritage Site in 1983, is today a place of tourist attraction, - this ancient city of Inca pride! Please read its absorbing story, you will not regret it ! Thanks, - Raj Nandy

MACHU PICCHU: THE LOST CITY OF THE INCAS!

(I)
At those ethereal heights where only eagles dare,
And where the Condor glides to gently perch;
Above the Urubamba Valley of Peru, -
Stretches the peaks of Machu Picchu and Huayna
Picchu;
Where the sky above is a clear cerulean blue!
And on a cloud-draped ridge connecting both
these Andean peaks, -
Lies the magnificent site of Machu Picchu, –
which many tourists seek!
A city hewed and carved out of rocks and stones,
Which in proud defiance to marauding time,
Stands there for nearly six hundred years, -
A majestic symbol of Inca pride!
(II)
The Inca Kings were the ‘child of the sun’,
Their chief deity was the Sun God - ‘INTI’,
Their ninth king who expanded and consolidated
their Empire,
Was known as the great Emperor Pachucuti!
This king and his architects, at an altitude of
8000 feet built the great Inca City!
To worship their gods and honor their ancestors,
And as a royal family resort and a summer retreat!
Inca religion was based around Nature, and their
architecture blended with the landscape around!
At Machu Picchu they felt closer to their gods,
And could almost hear His sound!
Pachucuti also built the city of Cuzco, the capital
of the Inca Empire,
They never had horses or wheels those days,
Their ‘runners’ covered their kingdom entire!
With posts located at suitable distances, for
relaying messages throughout their Empire!
(III)
The ruins of Machu Picchu covers 13 sq kms,
Lying some 70 kms north-west of Cuzco city,
Nestled amidst the navel of the mountain rocks,
Hidden from the praying eyes of all adversaries!
Surrounded by gushing mountain rivers and
yawning chasms going down deep;
And with secret ropeway bridges, this Inca hideout
was all complete!
It escaped the greedy Pizarro’s eyes, that Spaniard
who came for Inca gold,
Leaving Machu Picchu untouched, for the entire world
to behold!
So the urban sector of Machu Picchu has 140 buildings
still intact;
With steps and terraces cut into steep granite face,
And streams and aqua-ducts to irrigate their lands!
(IV)
The citadel lies on a flat surface, which is a 20 hectares
spread!
With a sacred and a residential area, and houses for
priests, nobility and guests!
‘Amautas’ were men both holy and wise, conducted
ceremonies and read the stars;
But the Incas had no written script, and took help of
the ‘quipu’ by far!
The ‘quipu’ was a numerical system using many
knotted strings, -
With which they kept records and accounts of almost
any and everything!
(V)
A Sacred Area had temples and buildings,
All dedicated to the Gods by Pachucuti;
A Sun Temple, and the sacred Intihuatana Stone,
For ‘binding the sun’ – the great Inti !
During the Equinox on the 21st of March and September,
When the sun was directly above the Intihuatana Stone, <
The priests performed ceremonies and offered prayers, -
To keep the sun caged and in control!
Legend has it that should a sensitive man, keep his
forehead on this sacred Stone, -
His ‘third eye’ would open up, and the ‘spiritual world’
he shall behold!
(VI)
It was Hiram Bingham a professor from Yale University,
Who in July 1911 rediscovered this miniature Inca City!
He took three years to clear the jungles and the wild
vines;
And the artifacts he had found were sent to the US -
as precious finds!
The modern architects who visited Machu Picchu,
all marvelled at the techniques used;
A ‘dry stone technique’
* without mortar, had all of
them pretty confused!
Many stones weighed around fifty tones, and others were
cut into various shapes and size;
And were fitted with such precision, leaving no room
even for a blade of knife!
The peaks there often get covered with mist,
And is the abode of white fluffy clouds;
This stairways to where the Inca gods dwell, #
Is where Machu Picchu is to be found!
- Raj Nandy
(- ALL COPYRIGHTS RESERVED -)
Notes: -Huayna Pichu stands behind Machu Picchu -
40mtrs higher! It has a steeper climb and has the ‘Temple of
the Moon’ inside a dark cave! +Declared a Heritage Site
by UNESCO in 1983.< Sun being directly above the sacred stone did not cast any shadow, so the priest said he had caged the Sun! *
Dry stone
technique without mortar also used in Egyptian Pyramids! #Many
tribes believed Incas were Gods! Thanks for reading, - Raj Nandy.

............................................. ................................................. .....................
73

Who never lost, are unprepared
A Coronet to find!
Who never thirsted
Flagons, and Cooling Tamarind!

Who never climbed the weary league—
Can such a foot explore
The purple territories
On Pizarro’s shore?

How many Legions overcome—
The Emperor will say?
How many Colors taken
On Revolution Day?

How many Bullets bearest?
Hast Thou the Royal scar?
Angels! Write “Promoted”
On this Soldier’s brow!
Jonathan Pizarro Sep 2011
Define a modern day criminal
While hypocritical political beings run our land
Living in a critical pitiful painful physical caving roof
With a senseless empirical prototypical lost truth
Indivisible people with inimical minds destroy the parasitical

But we don’t dream
We don’t wish
And we fear

Impermissible values atypical to the nonphysical morals
Incorporated with subliminal messages conveying hypercritical cynical thoughts
That create a clinical stereotypical that cousins the excremental
Archetypical of hatred and malice of our digital kind
Visible scars traditional to the mental demons in our minds

But we take the beatings
We’re let down
And we disappoint

An occipital which lacks visual of the coincidental
Leading to a sentimental moment where the only desires are miracles
The minimal heart becomes gentle and suffers pain
A pain in the temple far from accidental that can offer supplemental guidance
Unconditional love and fundamental care

But we take for granted
We’re selfish
And we fail

An oriental vibe in the beat box’s instrumental welfare
Which adorns the continental flesh like a spring ornamental plant
Judgmental is the incidental human race, the municipal force of the universe
Oppose the parental control against the environmental curiosity of our infants
Because unlike rental we can’t take back our wagon of mishaps in a world so
hypocritical, cynical, stereotypical, digital, and just mental.

Jonathan Pizarro
Copyright 2011 ©
March 7th, 2011 5:42am
a g Apr 2015
I ENVY seas whereon he rides,
  I envy spokes of wheels
Of chariots that him convey,
  I envy speechless hills
  
That gaze upon his journey;       
  How easy all can see
What is forbidden utterly
  As heaven, unto me!
  
I envy nests of sparrows
  That dot his distant eaves,         
The wealthy fly upon his pane,
  The happy, happy leaves
  
That just abroad his window
  Have summer’s leave to be,
The earrings of Pizarro         
  Could not obtain for me.
  
I envy light that wakes him,
  And bells that boldly ring
To tell him it is noon abroad,—
  Myself his noon could bring,         
  
Yet interdict my blossom
  And abrogate my bee,
Lest noon in everlasting night
  Drop Gabriel and me.
Jonathan Pizarro Sep 2011
Define a modern day criminal
While hypocritical political beings run our land
Living in a critical pitiful painful physical caving roof
With a senseless empirical prototypical lost truth
Indivisible people with inimical minds destroy the parasitical

But we don’t dream
We don’t wish
And we fear

Impermissible values atypical to the nonphysical morals
Incorporated with subliminal messages conveying hypercritical cynical thoughts
That create a clinical stereotypical that cousins the excremental
Archetypical of hatred and malice of our digital kind
Visible scars traditional to the mental demons in our minds

But we take the beatings
We’re let down
And we disappoint

An occipital which lacks visual of the coincidental
Leading to a sentimental moment where the only desires are miracles
The minimal heart becomes gentle and suffers pain
A pain in the temple far from accidental that can offer supplemental guidance
Unconditional love and fundamental care

But we take for granted
We’re selfish
And we fail

An oriental vibe in the beat box’s instrumental welfare
Which adorns the continental flesh like a spring ornamental plant
Judgmental is the incidental human race, the municipal force of the universe
Oppose the parental control against the environmental curiosity of our infants
Because unlike rental we can’t take back our wagon of mishaps in a world so
hypocritical, cynical, stereotypical, digital, and just mental.

Jonathan Pizarro
Copyright 2011 ©
March 7th, 2011 5:42am
Jonathan Pizarro Feb 2011
A mask of lies disguises my inner thoughts
Accompanied by a black veil which conceals my sorrows
A cage of snakes hold captive everything I ever bought
While ropes of disillusions hold back my tomorrows

Encountering materialistic poisons that plague my existence
With a side dish of infectious bad habits
Offered with a full menu of self-destructive malignance
That are stuffed into my boxed head like voting ballots

Having a desire for unwanted capitulation
Which lead to uncontrollable regrettable decisions
But a light guides me on a path to true elation
With nervousness overcoming my body like a surgeon making his first incision

Darkness becomes light blessed with colorful roses
A flame of love has ignited its route like a traveling circus
Followed by a wandering mind that creatively composes
As life’s symphonic strings are strummed, this writer finds his purpose

Jonathan Pizarro
Copyright 2011 ©
January 29, 2011 2:40am
Copyright 2011 ©
Jonathan Pizarro Feb 2011
Today walked down the street in my wheel chair
Rode the bus and train but forgot to be pay the taxi fare
Found my self with a blind guy who gave me directions
Got educated by an eighty year old on morning erections

Held an interesting conversation with a deaf friend
Listened to a book with no meaning and no end
Sitting down made my legs hurt but mostly my heels
Skinned an orange, threw out the bad stuff and ate the peel

Breakdanced the morning moon with a dude who didn’t have legs
Simmered the night sun with tea that was poured out of kegs
Had dinner with a vegetarian and we shared my steak dish
Also, we swam in the sky with a remarkable flying fish

Saw a janitor perform heart surgery on a machine
While the doctor told a cricket what was wrong with his spleen
Wrote lyrics with a dyslexic composer on a piano
Tanned on the beach lines of Alaska with a dark albino

Found my way thru the day with a dull flashlight
Slithered around with a snake that offered a colorful sight
Today was a day much more opposite than any other
Is this the confusion you had when you saw me with my lover?

Jonathan Pizarro
Copyright 2010 ©
May 12, 2010
Copyright 2010 ©
Vivian Apr 2014
you
subjugated me,
doing me as
Pizarro did the Incans,
plundering my heart and
ravaging the remainder.
that's probably why I love you so,
because
nothing
feels so good as
being subsumed,
breathless held under
kicking but only
languorously,
like swimming on a Sunday afternoon.
Jonathan Pizarro Feb 2011
Pumping an uncontrollable substance through my heart
Hope this feeling never ends or I’d be torn apart
A magical sensation with every pleasurable pulse
This must be illegal, something for the adults

Every moment, every thump, makes me lose my thought
Lets runaway together with the thrill of getting caught
Shuttle me thru your loops of vibrational divines
****** my flesh with your soft hum while I slowly unwind

Make me lose myself with no method of meeting time
If your admiration is at the top of the wobbly hill, then I’ll climb
But understand I’m wrapped around your finger with every minute that passes by
I’m in a meeting with your roots with nothing on, except a tie

This must be the so called meaning of life
Listening to every word and every piece of advice
That you simply can not only be mine
But is like your part of me, somehow connected to my spine

A strong emotion I can’t get rid off, where is its rubric?
Maybe your suppose to be a part of me, perhaps you’re my runic
This is such an indulging pleasure I can’t confuse it
Because I’m not in love with you girl, I’m in love with music

Jonathan “Prototype” Pizarro
Copyright 2011 ©
August 30, 2010 11:12am
Copyright 2011 ©
THE GREAT COUNTRY

Silent I wanted to remain,
Alas, my speakfire cry, it cry:
'I will speak and speak, speak of that great
Country,
that great country, with Aries of wits,
On the street of futility.
Speak of that great country, that great
Country with honeys, but honeys for
few palates, but sour for much lips.
Speak of that great country, that great
country that gives benevolently, but
lacks what it gives greatly.'
I besieged my speakfire to calm, alas,
it cry again to weep more. 'Speak on,
speak on' then l said.
Speak of that great country, that great
country that suffered from its Alan
Cortex and Francisco Pizarro, and after
their exist, suffers from self-conqurer.
Speak of that great country, that great
country, with 'giant' as its acronym, but
fortunately unfortunate, an acronym
that fit not.
Speak of that great county, that great
country that gives you oromodiye
, and in
return takes odidi omo.
Speak of that great country, that great
country, in its extrinsic, is goodly bad, and
in its intrinsic, looks best worse.
Speak of that great country, that great
country, though having many, but
wallows in penury.
My speakfire speaks of that great
country, my great country.

Oromodiye -- A chick
Odidi omo -- An human.

          E-mail= 89ogunleye@gmail.com.
A societal poem about the fate of individuals in a country where the greedy acts of the  unloving rulers have subjected the subjects to nothing... It is so sad many Africa countries are still in this condition today..  Such needs to be ridiculed and of course  corrected, and that is the salient point in this poem, titled My Great Country by Adebayo Samuel Ogunleye..
Jonathan Pizarro Feb 2011
Standing against the crime of my heart
I’m tired of falling for your type
Today I’ll find my way and break apart
I’ll celebrate my victory with Irish bag pipes

But I’ll cry for you on lonely nights
How can you have made my days so bright
How I wish I never know ya
Now I’m all alone in this room in a Hotel in California

Divine were your kisses of pure seduction
Now I’m lost on this one way highway
Who would of known you were a terrible destruction
I’m meaningless without you! you were my dossier!

How come no one told me life would be such a bad ride?
Surfing in a ocean of my tears with a forecasted high tide
I’m pouring out my feelings on this ***** napkin
Cause unlike you, it at least holds a bit of dignity

We were foolish to claim to love each other into infinity!
The hunger made me eat too much with my eyes
Forgetting my values and my only decency
And I fell under the spells of your lies


Roses of pity in a bouquet of discord
Can’t even afford to pay attention
Can‘t keep going on with this tension, People where is our Lord?
I just want some words, give me the silliest explanation

Heal the pain you have purposely caused
Your false image keeps running thru my veins
Black rain won’t mask the painful distraught
The thought of seeing you again will be an attempt so vain

In which I try to forget those events
From all my mistakes your one I wish I can prevent
A soup so hard to swallow with these sour condiments
You’re a horrible person I take back my beautiful compliments

Can’t believe my days will be filled with your torment
I hope this is for the time being, just for the moment
They judge me for what I’ve done but what do they know?
If my only companions is a comfy carpet and a bottle of Cuervo


Jonathan Pizarro
Copyright 2011 ©
January 29, 2011 4:31am
Copyright 2011 ©
Norman Crane Sep 2020
A spiralling ascent
Along the world's edge
Sweatdrops fall
To a below without sunlight
Boot dust
Llamas labour under supply packs
Hoof beat lantern dance
Shadows cast on the cliff face
Distorted we loom
Above the mute fog of humanity
Summitous
Awash in the final dawn
The old Inca smiling sprouts his knife
Ancient tapestral landscape
Exhales into us
Curvously infolding
The old Inca holds out his hands
The knife cuts horizontally
Reality opens like a book upon a tabletop
There, he says,
Pointing to the infinite space between where the sky in the past met the land
Timespace lies like a discarded washcloth
And we see dimly through the mists—
There, he says,
Pizarro could not follow us,
And we see dimly through the mists—
The neon lights of
Neoqusqo
Por qué caminos del alba
Andas descubriendo el cielo
Ese, prometido a unos
Los que sufrimos, creemos
Y le pedimos a Dios
Ir a bruñir sus luceros

Porqué sendas, asombrada,
Ya vas encontrando el cielo,
Mientras aquí las banderas
Y pueblos, están de duelo.
Porque te fuiste, tan pronto
Precipitando el invierno
Cuando aun, lleno de flores,
Se desgranaba febrero

Yucas y conquistadores
Te irán formando cortejo;
Pizarro barbado y noble
-Bronce, plata, encaje, acero-
Con una ciudad de Torres
Entre sus brazos sin huesos.
Y una muchedumbre oscura
Que va detrás de Atahualpa
Te sigue cantando himnos
En lengua quechua y aymara

Ya estás, Gabriela, en la gloria,
Mitad de princesa incaica,
Mitad de reina española,
Como Isabel, la magnánima.

Ya sé que no has de escribir
A nadie mas en la tierra,
Que oficinas de correo
A la eternidad se veda

¡Pero es tan dulce que sepas
Gabriela, que toda América
Por ti está tan conmovida
Como tu patria chilena...!

El cielo junto al copihue
La orquídea venezolana
Se une a la victoria-regia
Del Brasil, y en la sabana
De Colombia, los gomeros
Detienen su savia trágica.

¡Toda la flora de América
Quiere mirarte la cara!

Asómate entre las nubes
Una tarde arrebolada;
Muéstranos tu frente ancha
De madre tan bien amada,
¡Déjanos poquito a poco,
Del todo no te nos vayas!

Aquí ha quedado tu verso,
Tu palabra estructurada
Con lo mejor del idioma
Y lo mejor de tu alma.
Pero nos falta tu rostro
Con la sonrisa cansada,
Que a todos nos descansaba
Cuando nos daba en los ojos.

Oye, Gabriela, las voces
Desde tu «bosque perfecto»
Damos la señal que diga
Que llega a ti nuestro acento,
Y repasa, tu que tanto
Sobre la tierra anduviste,
¡Reposa y se haga radiante
Su risa aquella, tan triste!

Descubre el cielo y descansa,
Pero, Gabriela ¡no olvides!
Torin May 2016
Pizarro

And there he lay dying
In a pool of his own blood
He drew a symbol of the cross
alabanza a usted, el quien es dios, jesucristo

So far away from home
With brothers at his side
A lust for gold
A taste of blood

He came flying off the water
He went marching through the mire
One hundred and sixty faithful men
Fighting an empire

So far away from home
With brothers at his side
A lust for gold
A taste of blood
Dice octavio que en latinoamérica
los intelectuales somos la catástrofe
entre otras cosas porque defendemos
las revoluciones que a él no le gustan

somos la catástrofe asimismo
porque hemos sido derrotados
pero ¿no es raro que octavio ignore
que la verdad no siempre está
del lado de los victoriosos?

de cualquier manera
ya que con la derrota aprendimos la vida
exprimamos la memoria como un limón
quedémonos sin ángeles ni demonios
solos como la luna en el crepúsculo

desde paco pizarro y hernán cortés
hasta los ávidos de hogaño
nos han acostumbrado a la derrota
pero de la flaqueza habrá que sacar fuerzas
a fin de no humillarnos / no humillarnos
más de lo que permite el evangelio
que ya es bastante

para bien o para mal no es imposible
que los veteranos del naufragio
sobrevivamos como tantas veces
y como tantas veces empecemos
desde cero o desde menos cuatro

es casi una rutina

los derrotados mantenemos la victoria
como utopía más o menos practicable
pero una victoria que no pierda el turno
de la huesuda escuálida conciencia

los vencidos concebimos el milagro
como quimera de ocasión
pero siempre y cuando sea un milagro
que no nos cubra de vergüenza histórica
o simplemente de vergüenza
Wk kortas Mar 2018
You’d had just enough change to pick it up at the Hall’s gift shop,

As you’d ate sparsely at the down-on-its luck diner

Where the bus had stopped halfway or so through the trip out

(Just as well, given the place’s obvious indifference

To culinary innovation and cleanliness)

And you’d all but sprinted with it

From the cashier straight o the batting cage next door,

Inadvertently ending up in line for the machine

Which threw curveballs

(The kids ahead of you older, most likely high school players

Who made but weak contact with the pitches,

A dream dying a little with each weak tapper and foul-back)

And you went through a handful of futile swings

Before the final pitch came out of the machine,

Spinning oddly and refusing to break toward the plate,

Hitting you in the back with a dull, rubbery thud,

And your teacher, thick-middle man

Who had played a couple seasons in the Indians farm system,

Where he had faced Juan Pizarro (Son, his hook looked

Like it was coming in from first base
)

Chuckled softly as he rubbed your back,

Saying It’s like I told you, kid,

This is a hard game
.
Form Cincinnati to Cooperstown, from Pittsburgh to Pittsfield, from Oakland to Oneonta, it is Opening Day, and I think it just might be nice enough to play two.
Michael Marchese May 2017
Although the Andes melt away
Beneath Pichincha clouds of gray
And Cotopaxi shakes the ground
With aftershocks of Spanish crown
Pizarro's cut my Incan rose
My Amazon unconquered flows
From my Quichua eulogy
To Rumiñahui effigy
A martyr for a higher cause
Than dying for her fatal flaws
ConnectHook Oct 2022
HUAYNO

Why such stomping and rolling in the mud
Daughter of Andean sun, Flower of Maize,
Pachamama’s finest, bloom from the bud—
Why shame your royal past and noble ways?
Descending from the peaks you slosh around;
To melancholy Huaynos’ sodden sound.

What shall we blame—Pizarro ? … or your sin,
In selfies and cerveza on the net;
We hope your restoration may begin.
From what we see, it has not started yet.
Your crown: the restitution of your glory.
May heaven bless the ending of your story.



PASO DOBLE

You too, Chapina, stagger in the dirt
And hope your huipil does not bare your soul;
The shame you seem to lack, we feel—and hurt.
Your drunken Paso doble digs a hole
In which you may lie down and find a way
To seek the Lord once more at break of day.

That Gallo on your breath, your careless dance,
Would trample all your past into the mire.
Such Guatemalan tragedy; romance
Could almost cause an angel to expire.
And Arbenz’ overthrow notwithstanding,
May God grant you further understanding.
Huayno = trad. Andean song
Chapina = Guatemalan (f)
Huipil = trad. Ctrl. American women's garment
Gallo = ntl. beer of Guatemala

vids are here: https://tinyurl.com/3ce4ntdu
Qualyxian Quest Aug 2021
I read Richard Rodriguez carefully
What he does with italics!
Sacramento days
San Francisco nights

Eastway was a nightmare
Students savages
Ignorant attention
Relentless racial fights

Never been to Quito
Never been to Lima
Never been to Rio
But someday my sons just might

Cortez was a killer
Pizarro was one too
The Dead hide in Zero
Do the Dead delight?

         Brown. Not white.
Qualyxian Quest Aug 2020
Our first aim is to serve God and spread the Christian faith, said Cortez.

I have come to take away their gold, said Pizarro.

— The End —