The only good duende

Tears still come to my eyes. Forgive me for being a crybaby, please.

It’s part of who I am. Still born and raised in the projects, still strong enough to survive off jelly beans and bread.

Still ready to give my love and life to the cause.

You can’t take that Heritage away from us.

They can’t take away our childhood knowledge of the Heat. The knowledge of being hated when you walk into the room. They can’t take away our pride.

But they will always try.

Because, Young Seeker… they feel cheated. They feel no sense of culture, or identity.

So they want to take yours. They think they want it. But they’ll never get it. Because baby, we walked it.

Get deep with me, let me tell you their lie.


There’s an old, old saying

Staining the lips of men,

“The only good Duende is a dead one.”

They say

“The only kind Duende is a fed one.”

Through beer-soaked beards, the layman sneers,

“The only right Duende is a left one.”

They call it dishonor

That a human daughter

Might make with the Omcha’s kin.

They consider it sin, that a man should give in

To the wiles of those harlots

From the City of Lim.

But they fear our power,

And the Fourth Windflower,

They wish destroyed, before its bloom…

But the Codex will tell you,

Sure as Jezequel’s Bells chime forever in Hell,

They have a date with certain doom.

They say

“The only good Duende is a dead one.”

“They only spread chaos, and bedlam.”

Through closed minds and clenched teeth, their hearts do speak…

“If there’s an honest Duende, I haven’t met one.”

But I offer you, Young Seeker,

“Is there any good man?”

I think that is the only good question.

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