Behold, our great nation!
Tragedy.
Watch us foil you.
Watch us unleash the might yielded of our idealism, our perseverance, ourselves.
Watch us smite you.
Watch us sacrifice, yes we shall.
For those foes who watch.
Watch us endure you.
Watch us.
And remember us.

What a beautiful idea
To see an idea of ideas
That no one else could see
I want to use it
Yet not abuse it
To inspire others
To see the good and purge the bad
Give me an army they will be not
Knights of the sword, but
knights of the heart and mind and all in between.
Oh, what a beautiful idea.

What a blissful high
To not care for the day before
To only look ahead
And not to worry
About what came before.

Such is utmost optimism
One I do implore
In times of not.
But let it be clear
Such is not of carelessness.

When those who preach consequences
inflict unnatural consequences
upon those aware of their reality
what is the duty of the poeple
but to react,
Naturally?

Humanity, see what I see:
A golden horizon,
Sky blazing with rays of gold,
Golden grass,
Golden trees,
Golden cites,
Golden people,
None gilded.
A future for all.
A future together.

Perhaps, in less than ideal times
One lays still
Longing to be still forever
As they will eventually be moved
Whether by need or responsibility.
But what is really longed for
Is not to be told to move,
or else
But for someone to ask
Why would you lay still?

There is a greater call
One above perceived duty,
above one's material purpose.
Only the few can not hear it,
those who have lost the way.

This call has power:
run faster, strike truer, see clearer
It bestows these gifts
to serve those who would serve others;
The Humanitarian Call

Shall I fall victim to that ceaseless void?
Whose to say?
Myself, peers, or a larger population?

There is a critical question that needs to be asked for the upcoming society:

Is freedom to explore opportunity seemingly endlessly in quantity, yet limited in reality?
To be safe and secure and to have these opportunities with all safety and security, so long as you follow the perceived virtuous norm?

Or is freedom really to not be questioned why you do, but rather to be the canvas of which you paint your own perception, your own path?

One is the beginning of the path to oppression

Another is the beginning of the path to
True Freedom

What is a Writer?
Is it someone who puts words on paper
with honesty and nobelity?
Or is it someone who sees a truth in injustice,
a dream deferred?
Perhaps a writer is someone
who wishes wisdom upon the world
to exploit their own for the purpose of others?
What is a Writer?