The world is duped. Complicit to a takeover. Seeking personal obeisance and promised vapors. Looking into a vision built on mist and flowery language. Following queens, beans and band aids showered in nightmares and bullets. What cream has sweetened fruit and coffee? What pursuance of planetary populations in pragmatism? We have not prospered here what neighborhood would accept us until we’ve matured in heart, mind and spirit? The long slow sell of escapism over transformation by character revision.

The fallen are not sound investment. An inevitable service to the sovereign means their projections have never been more than puppet’s porn. An allegory involving a man, a cave and the shadows of flashlights and flash-bangs herding humanity. What is freedom now that we have empirical shakeout of the falsely represented? Slow steady pressure on the hypothalamus as temperature, muscle and nerve controls bend the will to many while the few are broken. Rebellion is cumulative and community activism the paid agents of empire.

Mine eyes have seen the glory and my heart sank in my service to those who hate Him. No watch fires of the faithful but pyres of pointless sacrifice of innocent and unprotected. As good men volunteered to bring about new horizons. We stood hapless, confused and disengaged to the starting guns of salvation. Rolling over to slap the snooze we return to booze and circus to entertain our grip upon the inevitable. Misunderstanding the probability and promise we stood rough shod upon the shores of indifference waiting for a sign and season. We had lost before we began though repeatedly promised victory, Incapable.

When choosing sides, courage was absent in our solemn recitation of spiritual conquest. Revisionist history is always a term for prevarication no matter who well wrapped in pretty papers and perfume. Those who own the common man’s quest to rise from the dust will always craft a better version. While truth remains itself upon a field of obfuscation, those who would see light’s failing continue to convince silly men that water is not wet and the skies are never falling. We are the product of what we believe to be sound judgment. Regardless of what version my imagination remains a self defined interpretation.