Stolen Gold

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Trickling between the fissures of the ocean,

my blood pours cold like poison.

I was born with anger attached to my lungs.

 

Tickling the back of my throat,

a frog swims up and scratches the bottom of a boat,

and there, between the tears, gleams our stolen gold.

 

Twisting around their imperial necks

they choke on their greed and wreck,

spilling coins through the cracks. 

 

Twinkling in my eyes, the light blinds my sin,

I rock the boat as I howl like the wind,

cursing their land in the tongues they burn.