Origins

 
I feel like my family ancestry has been clouded,
Painted a rosy color in the history books,
But then as I grew older I learned the real story,
The origins of my people I often mistook.

I’m of mixed race, the white and the red now a brown,
A Mestizo left with only ruins as proof,
My forefathers had gold but they didn’t have greed,
Just a need to worship the sun as their truth.

The images of the past are like memories untold,
Brought on by a conquest, war, slaughter and disease,
As centuries pass we forget the narration,
Of primitive nations who at one time sought peace.

Now the endangered languages and lexicons,
Are preserved by the concerned and interested few,
Retelling the chronicles with music and dance,
With chants to the ancient spirits that we once knew.