Carried by the noxious scent of unbridled wretchedness,
The thoughts of the masses corrode, upon impact, the ill-prepared,
Summoning the martyrdom of a thousand misguided sheep.

Inside that womb of madness, the absolutes rule,
And the governing law is Us vs Them.

Enlightenment unravels ... piece by ethereal piece,
And the true victims emerge as civility and patience.
In a moment of revelation, laws become clear,
As we meek and meager exchange freedom for protection.

A hive-mind of revolutionaries under the influence, perhaps.
And I can only wonder ...
Where is the queen amid these hapless drones?

Convoluted expressions before the witching hour,
The bewildered and forlorn search for answers.
Nevertheless, the final solution remains at a loss.

Amid the thinning of veils and an orchestra of misty hands,
True objectivity may be witnessed, if only for a moment.

And when questions still go unanswered ...
The bloodied and the broken find their relief
Under the darkened waves of an ethereal ocean.

Not all is lost ....

A man standing tall; a madman in leather shoes.
With a wave of an unseen hand, with the aid of a pen,
The thoughts and minds of a species are forged.

The beasts teach by doing. The evolved teach by writing.
Yet a word only contains the truth one assigns to it.

So where does honor reside?
Where does that unconquerable and objective
Nobility rest its tired limbs?

Is it found in the ****** of lawlessness?
Or in the temperance of our betters?

Is all certainty lost to them?
With abandoned streets and crowded fears,
The evolved, so different from the beasts,
Look nervously for that that unseen hand.
That hand aided with a pen.

And still,
Safe amid the outer rim,
The beasts look on.
And the proud and evolved accept their blindfolds.
An existence where truth and falsehood ...
Where good and evil ...
Where freedom and imprisonment ...

... Are all just words written by an unseen hand.

No one notices the sky's perpetual gray, until you are
          covered in ash and gunpowder.

Light is not welcome here, and yet the flames of
          burning cities blaze a welcoming path.

Shallow graves and even
          shallower hearts. . . .

You were only seventeen
          when your role in this battle began.

We care for her, brushing her tangled locks, soothing her calloused feet.
And yet, an empty gaze never falters, never flinches.
She remains a stone that never cracks.
To see our deeds firsthand is to peer into a void none could bear to imagine.

We moisten her lips with raindrops. We flex her bones with thunder.
A palm to her chest reveals a faint heartbeat. But what can we do?

There are things a soul cannot unsee.
Things forever etched across the mind's lucid eye.
The cries of ghosts and the laughter of someone else,
As there will always be another.
Another to smile when we frown. Another to rejoice when we fall.
A balance is maintained, and we all struggle for release.
If only her eyes could see that.

She swallows once, quenching her throat with dew from a leaf.
At last, a tear forms as she accepts Fate's design.
The chair fades away, and the canopy is pulled taut.
... Those pinholes twinkle unusual.
We each take a hand, and her eyes gleam with life.

"Follow us, sister. These stars shine for you."

So celebrate with bread and wine,
With meat and lager,
With laughter and song,
And the slippery kiss of that woman,
Eyeing you from over there.

Outside your door ... another awaits.
One who has always been near,
Persuading you with stars.
Promising nothing, yet granting everything.

It is inconceivable,
So I won't even bother.

But with each passing day,
You step closer to that revelation,
Whether by choice or by fate.
And when the door opens for you,
You may find yourself holding a cold hand.
Her skin is stone, unforgiving, and rigid.
Her silent steps follow close behind.

Your shadow. Your mistress.

*Regret