Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Road to Hell

You ask me who I am.
What I am.
Where I come from.
Why I'm here.
I doubt you really want to know.
I could tell you,
I am a refraction of light
Gleaming in the dust,
On a black and yellow pathway.
I could say,
I am the story that haunts you.
I am your past,
Reflected in a river of blood.
I am a child,
In a generation that will continue your journey,
When you fall to your own monsters.
I killed them.
The blood is on my hands,
Along with a million pus-filled boils.
Would you care for a taste of medicine?
I'm sure it will kill you swiftly.
You look cold:
Would you like a blanket to warm you as you die?
What am I?
I am the deeds you wish you could forget.
I am a shadow in the night;
A ghost, fleeting through the woods you carelessly trample.
You must wonder why I'm here.
It was so long ago.
Can't I just let the past be the past?
I am walking down the path you created.
My bare feet blister,
As the path becomes a road to hell.
We're not so different, you and I:
We both love the earth so much;
Why don't we make it our own.
A perfect world,
So beautiful, with it's blood drained out.
The dead are beautiful,
Aren't they?
The corpse of our world will feed us,
With gold.
Taste it,
Delicious, isn't it?
Now try the flesh of the savages.
I'm sure it will be equally satisfactory.
We'll have to kill them all;
They don't like us taking their land,
And giving them our wonderful tools.
What fools.
Ignore them;
They've already lost.
Have you ever smelled a flower?
I think I see one.
Never mind;
It's just a weed.
Still, it's pretty, isn't it?
So white.
So pure.
Hard to believe,
That it's capable of so much damage.
Come now,
Let's fight another war.
We have guns,
And guns will always win.
Technology is so wonderful;
With it, you can break,
Even a handful of arrows.
The broken arrows are better anyway.
The whole ones were too strong,
Too proud.
The fallen warriors
Are better.
They can contribute to society now;
Build our skyscrapers,
And work in our
Important roles...
Because in every society,
Someone has to be worthless.
We must never forgive anyone,
For being different.

I wrote this poem to remark upon the injustices that were done upon first natives in Canada, and anywhere were colonialism affected the people who originally inhabited a place. I wrote this poem for a contest sponsored by the Canadian government. The topic was SUPPOSED to be about how other cultures shaped the Canada we know today, but I was writing this at 12:15 AM, and I got rather pissy...This is the product! :P


  1. Wow.....that is both extremely dark and extremely well-done! Congratulations on another great poem!

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