Systematic uproar, ancillary articulation, ripened sarcasms of singular objections,
slewn about by the portends of power. Obsessive escalation,
an inability to fathom even the slightest degree of empathy.
Tortured by time’s insistence. I find the only solace is to decree my soul to the
sand dunes of the gallant seas that receed in the wake of fortune’s unrehearsed play.
I can make the light appear radiant or soft as a silhouette .
The choice is mine. Shall I indulge the riff raff’s relentless pleas? Or rebel in tyrannical rage.
Say not followers of freedom! Unscathed by monotony, I am the baffled audience.
The swoon of indignation parlays the question. The pistol’s crack answers with no ambiguity.
Blood on the streets. The night is calling. – Sinz