Imperialism

They came in from the waves, brine and fresh,
To the brave new world, with sores on their shoulders
Left to tell an old life back in the homeland,
And hidden tears in hardened hearts at the thought
Of shedding old lives for the sake of fortune.
They were rats making a home in  a freshly built
Mansion, scavenging for leftovers to bring up families
Left in the old world, with holes in shirts and sleeves
To remember mothers by. Centuries later here I am, with
Salty tales of legends and folklore to keep up what has been
Lost amid paper people in paper towns, built on wood pulp
And sweat and tears and skin roughened by the insults
Of those too colorless to know any better, with soul swayed
By ships out to sail not people from the port, but now riches.
Oh, how we have grown and still they don’t see our legacy,
Those misguided doves who think they are untouched;
Unbeknownst to them, their flower petals are soaking up
Our genius while they damn us.

-Mien