Standing in the wind, darkness falls
Fire in the dark and a cold dead glance
Cannons crack and brick trembles
So is the forever-seige upon my soul
"Look upon those walls! See its might?
They must be shattered with all our power
Until we may look upon the ruler of such a fortress
In all his glory he must be bested!" They shout.
They have fire in their hearts, those who plot
To subdue those who, in their eyes, must be beat
For little do they suspect that beneath that 'castle of dominance'
Is but a prison so-named by its sole survivor
"Stop!" He pleads at the thunder and rumbles
"There is no glory! Just leave me be!"
But the walls and cries drown out his voice
And continue their own trivial war.
The hermit cries out, lashing towards his enemies with all his might
Scattering the assault, tears come to his eyes
"Ho! Look at the deadlieness of his battlements!
Surely he must like the challenge!"
Deep in that dark hole of rock, the silent man is cold and hungry
"Save me, don't hurt me!" He pleads once more
"I'm stuck in here! Just let me out!"
But the walls shatter now, and the moderate pour in
"What is this?" They cry
"This mess is what we fought?
Let us leave him in his misery
He's nothing to us now. Kill him and we'll find someone who can give us a challenge."
A blade sweeps
Blood coats the walls
Choking for breath, the man crawls
To freedom from the walls so high around him
At the end, a moderate sneers
Holds a trigger, presses it down
An explosion, blindness; the man stretches his arm to the way out
Cold rock meets his hand.
And so he lies there, crying and bleeding
An inch away from the light
Weak with terror and death
He curses the moderates for his own life
Just as he closes his eyes
A crack in his ear, light pours in
He looks up into the light
There is a hand
He takes it.
Spikes line the palm and they pierce his flesh
He impales himself upon the thorns of its body
His head lols back watching the sun
He asks the sun
"Was it worth it?"
The sun answers
And goes dark
So I shall wait for the sun again
However dead I may be by then
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Words of an Aging Soul
Thousands of years of insanity packed into a bunch of pages. What more can be said?
From one whose heart to the knife is wed