Atahualpa

A story of the last king of the Incas.

He was the son of the sun

With his crown of feathers high

And his army lit the hills

As if the stars had tumbled from the sky.

He waged war against his brother

And all pretenders to the throne

Until the scepter of the Incas

Was his at last to own.

In his palace by the springs

He enjoyed his steaming bath

And he drank from gilded skulls

Of those who met his wrath.

He did not fear that paltry band

That had come on wooden ships

With pots upon their heads

And hair like llamas on their lips.

With his litters and his lords

He entered through the gate,

And in the square he met the friar

As the cannons lay in wait.

They gave to him a book

And they said it was the Word.

Atahualpa held it to his ear

But there was nothing heard.

The Word had dwelt among them

And took its winding courses

By Roman roads and Spanish sails

With steel, guns, and horses.

The first who heard were duty bound

To spread the message to the cursed;

Though all be one beneath the sun

There is prestige in being first.

So came the Word to Atahualpa

Who tossed it to the ground,

And the soldiers pounced upon them

With a horrifying sound.

With musket, cannon, sword, and fire

They filled the land with thunder;

They captured Atahualpa

And plotted on their plunder.

In the prison of his court

He planned to stall his doom;

With silver and with gold

He would fill his ransom room.

Even from his captors

Atahualpa gained respect;

He won their games of chess

But the king was held in check.

There were rumors that his army

Would attack and set him free,

And so his captors deemed 

That the king was not to be.

In the square where he was taken

They gave him water for his sin;

He bemoaned their thankless greed

And pleaded mercy for his kin. 

His soul departed by garrote

And left his body hollowed.

The son of the sun was gone,

And soon his kingdom followed.

A legend says he shall return

In glorious rebirth;

He shall restore his kingdom

For the children of the earth.

The ages wait for king's return

And worship sun or Son,

But man shall prove and prove again

His one true god is the gun.

Reviews

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

A beautifully rendered and bold piece of poetry. I so enjoyed the tale and message woven by this work. I can tell you put a lot of thought and heart into this poem and it shows. Amazing work Casey and job well done.

[Casey Truax]

Thank you very much. I do not often write in rhyme so it was a fine challenge.