| with eyes like fire the naive satirist derides the common nature that we despise all because time isn't on his side we'll wait for him long into the night the leaders of the rebellious bloc swing from the noose like promises Time forgot and cater to the melting pot of scyndic, voracious appetite learning the hard lessons vanity teaches of wicked lies and scintillating half-truths can't impose order on a society of people that won't revere you before the final curse is driven in to make this trinity complete, say what you will lest it should be the last day you live to see and spend an aeon with these words that instill in your kind a reason to want for more and meditate on the wisdom of an inanimate flower if i had all the time in the world, i'd give you my life but it couldn't compare to the illusion of power. in the empty lots, the conspirators gather beneath the streetlights to conspire you can see their deeds echoing in their hearts like ice and eyes like fire the ghosts of the powerless howl through the coldest nights and darkest days resounding off the whitecaps like diamonds in the bay voices tremble as they spew adages that they believe will hold them through til morning and with glory's name on glory's stake, they fall trembling before the angel adorning the gateways to the palisades where the broken lay their broken words and time has no consequence so terrifying as that which leads prophesies so disturbed by inclinations of what could be, derived from the happenstances that they themselves have seen, into power over the jaded and the free what child is this who lends an ear to cares not found in our time to gentlemen who fought the wars of the world that brought an eerie calm to find who discovered worlds away from ours that moved a nation to tears of rage these phantom desecrations, vicariously by the millions, that speak of a better age when beauty walked among us and heaved a thousand sighs and walked a thousand paces west into the waters raging with the advancing tide these endearing qualms that speak of inhuman nature and do each other fight o'er plains painted blood red until satieted with the vapid glory of Pyrrhic victories that speak of insatiable hungers for a simple scantlet of reason, of doubt, of any human emotion that calms the trembling hands that once wielded a warrior's scapelet and towered over the pilgrims burning their homelands. after the lection the naive counterpopulist will rise and speak of what he dare not despise to the scapegallows with the fire in their eyes, a passion he dares not undermine. they care not for the dissertation on the unscrupulous desecration of the lands where warriors lay down their brethren and prayed for their answer to come in time in the darkness a promised land evolves and hardens the political prisoners' resolve to find cause to fight for what's all but lost to make the hollow victory all the sweeter the promised land whispers on the fleeting air Lachesis folds his hands in prayer to a lover he believes will meet him there as the masses only immure him deeper inside the walls he had them build for him to protect him from the howling winds that spoke ill of his gods and sent for him to bring them word of the faltering saviour he dared not speak for fear of wrong; he begged them not to lead him on when morning came, he woke to a lynching mob carrying him to the waiting gallows in the tower. when morning came the winds did rage and the rain fell like knives from the sky the learned spoke of an approaching storm but the masses failed to heed their cries the ages blurred in retrospect, their passions indistinct, their memories lost to history and left behind save the precious illusions spoken on the wind by voices of those who speak wistfully of a time when beauty walked among us, and heaved a thousand sighs and walked a thousand paces westward with open arms to greet the raging tides. |