Steel Prisms on Glass Twine
Each finger puppet falls with the encroaching night.
Each hero breaths their last, as the tree of liberty falls dead. Starved, as far too many patriots and tyrants hide in fear, while rich men exsanguinate the already dry soil.
Each new moon rise and fall in a never ending cycle, lit brightly, by the lightning struck tower.
Why are the fearful protected from the afraid?
Our deaths are now planned, for the hero of history's stage is the victor. And the victor is the highest bidder.
This world is sick. Fearing a Revolution.
"Why do people insist on creating things that will inevitably be destroyed? Why do people cling to life, knowing that they must die someday?
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