past

I was a proud man,

a man of many stars.

I knew of my birth

and its relation

to the constellations.

I knew of hate

and war

and greed

and primal summers

beneath shade trees,

overlapping sitting stones

in livid grass.

I knew of

the hunt

 and of the kill.

I knew of

survival

and reckless abandon.

Mountains ushered in the dawning day

and the brilliance

which it satisfies

its need to be seen.

It is cold

without the

blistering summer

heat.

Of grinding emotion

and blissful reproach,

this life at its fullest.

I welcome it.

I welcome it all.

Nero spoke to me in rhyme

and timid rhythm;

she spoke of our chores

in the midday sun

and what it meant to be alive.

“This is our duty to preserve,”

Nero said.

“But what is its value?”

I asked.

“It is something that

we are bound

to collect,”

 she said. “It is of our past

and it should be relished.”

“The symbols inside,

I can’t understand them,

and neither can you.

They do not make sense,”

I replied. “We should

leave it here.

There are more

important things

to discover.”

We looked up

through the canopy of trees,

past the sun

to the broken glass

and beyond

to the rich soil

above our heads.

This place

has been buried

for time untold.

It has welcomed the earth

in the same way

my people

used to receive it

with their lifeless bodies

and solemn traditions.

But the old ones are gone now

and we can make

our own future,

our own traditions,

and our own way.

Even with the animals chattering

and the water running off

from the falls above

and the babbling brook

to our side,

this place is quiet

and remorseful.

It cries silently

of the way things

used to be.

It moans

in silence

at its past.

The books are everywhere

behind glass cases.

We know what they meant,

we know they contain stories,

but are unacquainted with their words

and symbols.

Those traditions

have died away

with our ancestors.

We have our own language now,

our own symbols.

“We must take some of them back with us,” Nero pleads with me.

“They are too heavy.”

“Then we will come back with

some of the others

and they will help us.”

“The symbols

have no

meaning

for us

now,” I replied “Their worth

died away

with the last of the dead.”

I know what she wants.

She wants the books as a prize.

She wants to show them to the others.

She wants their favor.

“No,” I said,

“I will not carry them

for you and your accolades.

And I will not tell the others

to help you either.”

She was angry with my words.

I could see the redness

in her cheeks

and the tightness

in her jaw.

“Nero,

you must understand,

the old ones are all gone now.

We must make our own path.

We will remember

what we have been taught,

we will hand it down to the young,

but as for that

which the old ones disregarded,

we shall disregard too.”

“Kite,” she flashed a stare at me, “you are strong.

You are wise

beyond your years.

And you are our leader,

but there is something

in these books

that the old ones didn’t want

us to know.

In these symbols

are their mistakes,

their transgressions,

and their failures.

We must know what they are

if we are to not make

the same mistakes.”

She never calls me by my name

unless she is angry.

I do not like hearing it.

The old ones gave me the name

and said it meant flying.

They called me this when I was young

and it stuck.

When I passed the tests

and became a man,

they called me by

the same name

I was known as a child.

The name is not my own,

but a concoction of

the old ones

because I fly

in my own mind.

“I deem it unnecessary.

The past is of failure

and needless.

We will go on without it.”

Nero turned on her heels

and began to climb the rope

which led us

here.

It swayed from her weight,

but she is good at climbing

and made her way up

without incident.

In one of the glass cases,

I saw a small book with

flowers printed

on the cover.

I took it

and placed it

in my pack.

It will make her happy

that I kept one.

Nero was

up and away

before I ever got to the rope.

I lifted myself up with ease

and rolled up the rope into a long loop

and placed it over my shoulder

after I hoisted myself

over the broken out ceiling.

The jungle was loud.

Creatures of every sort

made themselves known

in the dense treetops.

Their cries

were for the man and woman

who crossed their path.

This is our America,

our freedom.

We are to let it reign

 for the old ones have told us to.

I call this land Earth.

I call it this for the soil beneath our feet.

I call it this because

the old ones

would have hated it

if we were to ever forget

America.