Es ya libre, ya libre este suelo, ya ceso su servil condicion. -Bolivian National Anthem
Hollow-hearted El Diablo Was formed from smokeless fire, His loveless, motherless, brotherless bones, Made him a cold, decietful liar. In Dos Rios, his City, unbearably warm, where he kept his adulterous, hedonist home, was well-lit and covered in colorful lights, which illuminated the dark, and cloudy night.
El Diablo calls me “hija,” Inebriated with bloodshot eyes Gambling with life the way he gambles with dice; sipping eternal “eaux-de vie.” He offers me ambrosia, and chuckles at me, Melpomene! I softly decline, knowing I am a prisoner of Time, of Chance and Circumstance and that this godly food, would be bad news, coming from El Diablo.
El Diablo, fervently persued his Eve Consumed by his Avarice, Envy, and Greed He proudly spilled his villanous seed, and gave her three more mouths to feed.
The first, spear-thrower, Was a quarter century old, his aura was calming, his presence was bold. It took a quarter-century for him to knock on my door It took him a minute to floor and have me seeking his soul.
I swear he could have been an angel, were he not the son of El Diablo.
Soon, he discovered, This veteran lover, He was my muse of tragedy That he could inspire me To Live Recklessly beyond my means–
So I condemned myself, and he did only what was in his genes– Lust, Pride
He kept the truth about his father undercovers But I found it there, With a long black hair Which clung to his pillowcase; And as I dozed mumbling about the drapes,
My mind in the distance Listened to the muffled sounds of the man in the median Fluent in Ebonics who dreams aloud, of a drop-top Capris equiped with hydrolics. Damned like his family name To be one of many “Unfortunate,” sons of El Diablo.
The unriped son, Half an ounce plus three, Was the baby, till his father took his 'Honora.' The quiet one, believed nobody knew about the faceless women with which he drew maps of anatomy– And that his ignorance superceded him, Made me smile, For it meant that it would be a while before this purity would become obscured, and he would learn the awful curse, of his dearest, El Diablo.
While the fearful strength of their mother, Who smiled stiffly through her bright, Tiger Eyes, At the innocent, gluttonous, Would be bastard child, Who was lavished with gifts twice his size, That made him into a Zombie– who stole her life, and her El Diablo.