I’ve been to Tikal. 
I wanted to see this ancient city. 
Let me fly through like a viceroy. 
Light, airy, and blithely, 
I careen through the stone, 
and you take me to the highest point.
I speak to the native Guatemalan. 
He tells me of the blood guilt that ridden the lands. 
I taste the copper in the air. 
I feel a torrent of emotions. 
He takes me to the burial grounds. 
Filled with chaos, 
the rage slowly fills one. 

From a viceroy to a dragon, 
I bathe in smoke. 
I am foreign to this locale. 
I must fly away, away, to home. 
Take me home from my trip to Tikal. 


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